Mercy of the Damned
by Lord22
Summary: Death Knights are meant to be without mercy. The herald of the Burning Legion is not meant to possess restraint. Yet as Arthas Menethil spreads undeath across the Alliance, some part of him is determined to keep himself from the mouth of hell, though his soul is already gone. A tale of the third war, and the second story in the Mercyverse.
1. Trudging Through the Ashes

**Chapter One: Trudging Through the Ashes**

The Lich King's plague of undeath had spread through the Capital City and into the outskirts of Lordaeron. Shocked and disheartened by the loss of their beloved King, the forces of Lordaeron were scattered by the ravenous undead warriors. As the undead ranks swelled with the population of Lordaeron City, Stratholme was finally abandoned after long fighting as troops were withdrawn to defend the heartlands. It was not long before the undead moved in to begin setting up operations within Stratholme, and the dead soon began to walked the land.

The full-scale mobilization which Arthas has initiated was now put to full use, as militiaman and standing soldier alike found themselves fighting to hold back a never-ending tide. Even as this occurred, the long-dreaded withdrawal of the high elves from Lordaeron picked up speed. The gates of Gilneas which had for a time been opened were closed shut after the forces which had been sent to aid the Alliance were abruptly withdrawn. Thoras Trollbane still offered no aid, and the reinforcements from Stormwind were delayed by an unexpected uprising of gnolls.

Lordaeron had been abandoned. What had once been the greatest nation of all humanity was in a few short weeks reduced to a shadow of its former self.

Prince Arthas, meanwhile, had not yet been seen…

* * *

Dark times had come to the Alliance.

Night fell over Vandemar. The town guard walked their patrols, a sense of fear about them and their hands close to their weapons. Lord Uther had been remarkably close-lipped on the subject of what had happened in the Capital City, and no one had been able to get a word from him on it, other than the fact that Prince Arthas may have been gravely changed by his time in Northrend. The men glanced warily upon the path, seeking any sign of the undead that now prowled the wild lands. Disappearances had become more common of late, and everyone was on edge.

'I hate this waiting,' said Johnson a militiaman. 'I've killed undead before, in Anderhol. But it's this damn waiting that kills me. I'd take an army of abominations for it to end.'

'I hope you don't have to make good on those words.' said Jove. 'Let's keep up our patrol, and keep your eyes open.'

As they walked a silence fell over them. 'Where has Lord Uther got to anyway?' asked Johnson suddenly.

'I heard he's gone to make sure that damn necromancer Kel'thuzad won't be resurrected. A couple of other paladins went with him.' said Jove 'It's nothing to worry about, the paladins can handle anything. I just wish we knew what happened to Prince Arthas, or even Princess Calia.'

'You remember how high everyone's spirits were a few weeks ago?' asked Johnson 'We'd heard that the Prince had defeated the demon responsible for the whole mess Lordaeron had been in. He was a hero, everything looked like it was going to end happily. I mean, sure, the lands still blighted and there are always ogres and trolls to fight, but it was something. Now it's just... nothing.

Nothing but an uneasy peace in some places, soon to be broken by my tell.'

'If you can call this peace.' noted Jove. 'You remember Sir Malory, don't you? He was there at the fall of the capital, or so I hear. But he won't say a word or anything to no one.'

'You don't suppose he's protecting someone?' asked Johnson 'The Cult of Damned could be anywhere. Around a corner, doing their laundry in the river. They were drawn from every level of society you know. And not all of them look the part.' He looked at an empty house as they passed it. 'There used to be five brothers living there, I remember.'

'What happened?' asked Jove who had only recently come to town.

'One of them died at Harthglen, cut down defending the Prince right before Uther arrived. Another went out to Northrend with the Prince, and a third was conscripted by Uther with the recent mobilization. The other two are in the town guard.' He sighed as they passed a tree. 'I just hope their mother doesn't lose any more sons before the end.' He paused to look up at the trees blackened and withered boughs. Its leaves were being shed little by little. 'Remember how this place used to look in the fall?'

'I haven't been here before.' said Jove.

'No not just here,' said Johnson 'I mean Lordaeron. The trees swaying in the wind looked like fire, and the pathways coated in leaves were great. I never really appreciated it, until now. Now it's all gone. The priests can restore the blighted ground some, provided we get rid of the curses. But the trees they say need time to heal on their own.'

* * *

And so Johnson and Jove passed their watch, lamenting the fall of Lordaeron and the destruction of much that was good. Completely unaware of the dark forces mustering upon a nearby hill just a few miles from their position. There was a shrine of raised stones which had once been a site for occult meetings before the Cult of the Damned had gone violent. Kel'thuzad had spoken there many times, and no foot soldier now dared set foot in that place without orders. It was an unspoken agreement among men, brought on by a darkness which seemed to cling to the place.

Here, unseen by anyone save the birds, and one other, there arose a mist of green that covered the standing stones. The mist rose higher and higher until the whole shrine was obscured. Then a shadowy figured emerged from the mist. One whose face was known to all the men and women of Lordaeron. He was not as he once was, the Prince of Lordaeron. His once long golden hair was white as snow, his skin was pale, his armor black as night. In place of a hammer, he held a long runed sword and he stood where he was, gazing around.

'What trickery is this?!' He said in a snarl, motioning with Frostmourne.

Then he caught sight of a figure, clad in red with corpselike skin and wings like a dragon. The creature had eyes that glowed with an unholy light and was unmistakable. A dreadlord. A fury came over his features, and Arthas marched forward, brandishing the sword in his hand, which gleamed wickedly. Memories of a time before now coursed through him, filling his veins with a hatred he had not felt in a long time.'Mal'

'Mal'ganis, I don't know how you survived but I will-'

'Calm yourself Prince Arthas,' said the Dreadlord in a methodical tone. 'I am Tichondrius, like Mal'ganis I am a Dreadlord. But I am not your enemy. In fact, I've come to congratulate you.'

Arthas halted in place. The hatred which had moments ago consumed him now fell away, turning cold within him as though it no longer mattered. It didn't matter that this creature likely held some part of Mal'ganis' schemes. It didn't matter that he once would have slain this being without the need for a personal grudge. Nothing mattered. An idle curiosity sized him.

'Congratulate me?' asked Arthas, a tone of disbelief in his voice.

'Congratulate me?' asked Arthas, a tone of disbelief in his voice.

'By killing your own Father,' clarified Tichondrius 'and delivering this land to the scourge, you have passed your first test. The Lich King is pleased with your… enthusiasm.'

'Yes,' said Arthas, tone becoming contemplatively dead as his blue-green eyes fell upon the sword in his hand. 'I've damned everyone and everything I've ever loved in his name. Yet I still feel no remorse. No shame. No pity.' And it was true, though he knew he should feel those things.

'The runeblade that you carry was forged by the Lich King and empowered to steal souls.' explained Tichondrius in satisfaction. 'Yours was the first that it claimed.'

'Then I'll make due without one.' resolved Arthas, not nearly as affected by the Dreadlords words as he should have been. He simply could not conjure up any self-righteous indignation. 'What is the Lich King's will?' That was all that mattered, really.

'The Cult of the Damned must be rallied once again.' replied the Dreadlord smoothly. 'Many of the acolytes have been in hiding amongst the populace. Once you've gathered them, I will give you further instructions.' He motioned with one hand, and out of the trees there came a low snarling. Several dozen creatures made their way into view, ones that should have been Arthas' had

They had maws with many sharp and broken teeth, and hands with massive razor-sharp claws. Long tongues were lolling from their mouths as they came before him and awaited orders. 'These creatures are the front line fighters of the scourge. These ones will serve you well, though they will not be sufficient to overwhelm the enemy on their own.

I expect you will need speed and stealth more.'

Arthas reached forward with his mind, seeking to control the creatures and he sensed their thoughts. They would obey him, kill for him, devour the flesh of his enemies for him. They looked forward to it. Yet Arthas felt an odd reluctance to use them. If he brought them he would surely have to kill and slaughter. 'I don't need them at all, Dreadlord.' he said 'I will gather the Cult of the Damned without killing anyone.'

Tichondrius looked at him in surprise. 'An amusing concept, however, I think you will find it impossible. You should take what support you are offered.'

'There is only one creature I need for this task,' said Arthas 'and it is here.' He outstretched one hand in a gesture of summoning. A black mist arose, and out of it rode a skeletal horse adorned in heavy armor that hardly encumbered it. It pulled to a halt before Arthas and the Prince petted its thin mane, before pulling himself onto its back. He pulled back the reins and the horse reared up, kicking at the air with skeleton hooves. 'Ride Invincible, show us your haste!'

He rode away into the forest at breakneck speed. Invincible navigated too and fro, dodging through the trees with ease. As he did so he sensed the powers around him. Darkness hung very heavy over Lordaeron, the trees themselves seemed to whisper with the lamentations of the damned. Through the blighted landscape, he rode until he came into places of civilization. A long time ago he would have been relieved to see the village now beneath his gaze. Its lights would have been comforting, the sight of armed guards assuring him he was near safety.

Now it held an implicit threat to him, and though he knew they were his enemy, he was surprised at the suddenness of the change. Those lights in every window were a threat. A watchful eye meaning him harm. He rode towards it, down the path at a trot. As he did so a man garbed in the black robes of an acolyte of the cult of the damned stepped before him. Memories flashed through Arthas' mind of striking them down in battle. Though he had never seen him before, he wondered if the man would hold a grudge. Arthas certainly would.

To his surprise, the man bowed his cloaked head and clasped his hands as if in prayer. 'Greetings, Great Lord,' He said in a submissive tone. 'our master, Kel'thuzad, told us that you would come.'

The necromancers name rang through his ears like the tidings of doom. 'Kel'thuzad?' asked Arthas incredulously. 'How could he have known that-

'Be wary, Master.' the man cut him off with a warning. 'If the townsfolk see you or your undead minions, they will call the local guards to stop you.' Then, before Arthas could say he _didn't_ have any undead minions, he raised a stone which Arthas recognized as a hearthstone and activated Acolyte was surrounded in green mist, and moments later he was gone. Arthas stared at the area where he had been mere moments before, contemplating recent revelations. Yet there was nothing for it but to continue onwards, and hope to learn more later. The Prince of Lordaeron pressed on into the darkness, and the sound of his hoofbeats came clean and clear as he entered a small town which had been built by the river. Riding into the midsts of the town, he saw a number of villagers milling about, and some he knew to be on his side, though he was not sure why.

The Acolyte was surrounded by green mist, and moments later he was gone. Arthas stared at the area where he had been mere moments before, contemplating recent revelations. Yet there was nothing for it but to continue onwards, and hope to learn more later. The Prince of Lordaeron pressed on into the darkness, and the sound of his hoofbeats came clean and clear as he entered a small town which had been built by the river. Riding into the midsts of the town, he saw a number of villagers milling about, and some he knew to be on his side, though he was not sure why.

He, at any rate, looked entirely human so it should be a simple matter to bypass them alone. Even as he approached, however, some of them looked up at him in terror and fled. It was then that Arthas recalled he was a skeletal horse, an unfortunate oversight on his part.'Help!' cried a villager 'The undead have returned! Guards!'

'Help!' cried a villager 'The undead have returned! Guards!'

The man rushed across the town square towards the guard house. Arthas raised Frostmourne, for it would have been the essence of simplicity to slay the villager where he stood and prevent him from seeking help. Yet something stopped him, he wasn't sure what. Instead, he turned his horse and rode back in the direction he sensed one of his quarry's. The man he saw looked perfectly normal, like the sort of person ready to be anyone's friend. As soon as he looked upon Arthas' face he knew him at once. The cultist raised his hearthstone and teleported away in moments.

Arthas had never gotten a hearthstone. As the Crown Prince of Lordaeron he'd rarely had occasion to leave the Kingdom as an adult, and so had always been home. He felt a tinge of bitterness about that. The doors to the guard house were thrown open, and the guards rushed out, but too late! Arthas turned Invincible and galloped away before they could come within fifty paces. Leaving the town behind him, he rode along the side of the river until he reached a house just before the crossing. There he found another acolyte, who removed a hearthstone.

'I bow to your will.' said the acolyte and he was gone.

Arthas turned Invincible with a thought and began to cross the river. The waters were icy cold with the approach of winter and reached up to the horse's haunches. On some level Arthas realized he was freezing cold, and yet he did not mind it. The undead steed pressed onwards without relent, and soon Arthas came to the other side. As he made his way onto the path, he stopped, for he felt a presence. A phantom-like specter appeared out of the trees and made itself known. Arthas knew what it was at once without knowing how.

'I have need of your abilities, little shade.' he said, and he directed it forward to the path ahead.

 _'_ _All shall be revealed.' r_ eplied the Shade.

Some unseen presence guided Arthas as he learned to watch through the shades eyes as it made its way through the wilds into a country, dominated by a single barracks at the center of a farming center. He was not learning by instinct, no he felt as though he were being guided by some omnipotent force which worked through him. Only a few times before had he felt that. The shades eyes revealed there was a patrol of footmen who routinely made its way in circles around the barrack which so dominated the landscape. The patrol was led by a soldier in captain's armor, who halted periodically at each point to examine the was a lumber mill, where several out of shape city folk were being put to work and a place where a number of people were fishing. Both areas held

There was a lumber mill, where several out of shape city folk were being put to work and a place where a number of people were fishing. Both areas held a member of the cult of the damned. Finally, there was the farming center, where a number of villagers were watching the grain, ensuring that no one came to taint it. Despite himself, Arthas was impressed. Lordaeron had adapted since his efforts against the scourge. That he was about to make their efforts, and by extension, his own, for naught held an irony which wasn't lost on him.

He couldn't quite regret it. It was odd really.

Arthas directed the shade to continue following the Captain as he passed where Arthas stood, just out of sight. As they made their way onwards Arthas pressed on behind them and turned aside towards the river where he had seen villagers fishing. Even as his fellows fled in terror around him, the acolyte dropped his line and bowed. 'My life for Ner'zhul!' he proclaimed.

As he disappeared into green mist, Arthas departed before the guards could react, heading south along the road, where he found a number of acolytes and several villagers who fled in terror from him. He was beginning to become annoyed with these wretches, though he scarcely paid their words any heed. However this time his escape was not to be so clean, for the guards came upon him in force. Their swords were out, and the Captain slashed at his throat as he reached him. Arthas parried the blade, and broke it with one strike, before riding away into the night, leaving his enemy upon the ground, alive.

He was faster than the guards, and before long he had escaped them and was making his way around the barracks which stood at the center of the road. On he traveled, as the guards gave up the chase, and finally came to a number of small farmsteads, just out of harvest, where people once again looked up in terror and ran, calling for the guards.

All save a few, who raised their hearthstones.

'We bow to your will.' And they were gone in green mist.

Arthas turned and rode away, even as a knight rode from in front of the barracks, sword, and lance held high. 'How could you murder your own Father?!' He asked in horror and rage as he rushed him.

Arthas did not dignify him with an answer to a question he himself didn't know the answer to, and fled onwards, escaping into the night. He made his way along until eventually he came to a large lake that stood directly before a great town. The town was walled with stone, but the gate was open. Yet many knights and footmen stood guard before they numbered more than he could handle on his own. For a moment he remained unsure of how to proceed, for he had not counted on such security. Then an idea occurred. While he could not enter the gate, he might well be able to slip past it without alerting the enemy, for there might be another way in. He called forth the Shade to scout ahead for him, making its way along the wall, and through a patch of forest which had been left standing. The shade moved unseen and went along the wall until at

Certainly, they numbered more than he could handle on his own. For a moment he remained unsure of how to proceed, for he had not counted on such security. Then an idea occurred. While he could not enter the gate, he might well be able to slip past it without alerting the enemy, for there might be another way in. He called forth the Shade to scout ahead for him, making its way along the wall, and through a patch of forest which had been left standing. The shade moved unseen and went along the wall until at last, it came to a place where the wall ended and the trees began. But there was a gap in the trees, large enough for a horseman to ride through, into the town.

Satisfied, Arthas rushed onwards past the guard's line of sight and entered the town before they could catch any sight of him. Almost at once he came across a cultist, who seemed to have been waiting for him. He bowed, removed his hearthstone, and was gone. He made his way through the streets like a shadow, avoiding the gaze of the townsfolk. And wherever he went, those who served the Lich King paid heed and used their Hearthstones. Then, when he had finished his work there, he rode onwards up the path.

A man stood before him on the road. 'Seek out the local graveyards. Those buried there will serve you well.' He intoned, before departing via hearthstone. They really were exceptionally single-minded, weren't they?

For his part, Arthas paid no heed to the graveyard as he rode by it, for he did not need undead for this. He meant to make good on his word, after all. Finally, he came to the third town. Unsurprisingly in these dark times, the gates were shut tight. As he approached Frostmourne gleamed viciously, and Arthas knew that they would be no obstacle. Even so, he found himself riding past the gates, into the countryside beyond. He was not quite sure why he chose to do this, only that it occurred to him that some of the Cultists might have been hiding in the farther reaches.

As he marched onward, he came across a small mining town, guarded by a knight. There, peasants were busily mining gold for the purposes of waging war. Arthas watched with a certain nostalgic fascination for a time, before drawing in for a closer look.

All of a sudden there was an all too familiar ringing of bells. On reflex, Arthas looked to command the peasants in battle, only to remember that they were no longer his subjects. His mind flashed back to the bells which had played in his honor, when he had entered the City of Lordaeron, and driven Frostmourne into his Fathers neck, even as he moved to greet him. He felt... something, for that.

His mind returned to the present, for as the bells echoed the peasants rushed to the Town Hall. At the same time, bandits rushed out of the trees of the nearby forest and attacked with axes and small shields. Evidently, Arthas had not been successful in wiping them out entirely. Yet the peasants would be left unguarded, for the bandit's path was barred by a lone knight, who met them alone in battle. His sword sang, as his spear was driven through one of their hearts. The Bandits rallied, confident in their numbers. Yet the knight did not fight alone for long. For the villagers of Lordaeron were no longer the defenseless creatures they had been when Arthas and Jaina had journeyed along the King's road. The peasants had heeded the calls to arms and rushed to fight their attackers with axes and shields.

The ensuing fray was vicious, and Arthas realized that now was his chance to slip through. However, he suddenly found that he could not depart this place without making some contribution to the conflict. It had never been in his nature to let villagers be assaulted by bandits, even if his nature had altogether changed. Besides, he did not like leaving loose ends. Raising Frostmourne, Arthas rode towards the edge of the fray and beheaded the bandit's leader. The man's head soared from his shoulders, and as he died the bandits fell into chaos.

They were quickly slaughtered by the organized peasants, who had already been gaining the upper hand, and for his trouble, Arthas found that the Militia's wrath now turned to him. They rushed after him, led by the Knight, and he fled into the forest. The Peasants, evidently, had not viewed their prey as worth braving the woods and gave up the chase. Yet the knight was another story. Wherever Arthas rode the knight followed. He guided Invincible onwards through the woods, as shadows lessened all around him and morning approached, the sun beginning to rise slowly on the horizon.

Branches tore at his violet cloak, only to be batted away by Frostmourne. The hoofbeats of the Knight's horse could be heard from behind him always. Every time the Death Knight glanced back, his enemy was still there. Such a race had not been seen in many years before or since as the two riders plunged through the woods. Finally, it seemed to come to an end, as a vast stretch of underbrush came up between the two warriors.

Suddenly the underbrush beside him was thrust aside, and the Knight was there, aiming his blade for Arthas heart. Frostmourne beat it down. They were now riding neck to neck, their swords flashing in the morning light, moving faster and faster. It only dawned on Arthas how much weaker he was than before just now. In Northrend he would have slain this man in an instant, yet as his light burned out and darkness crept in to take its place the trade had not been equal. Like Lordaeron, Arthas was but a shadow of what he once was.

The knight's lance passed his neck by inches, and Arthas broke it in half with his sword, before nearly slashing the man's throat with a blow that proved too shallow. Suddenly the knight's horse slipped upon a loose stone, and he fell downwards into the dirt. Arthas rode onwards, and caught himself hoping that the man's horse had not been injured beyond healing. He doubted that the Knight was dead, however.

All too soon he was gone, and he reflected that he would probably never find the answer to that question.

On he traveled finding himself drawn south away from the core path, to a little house hidden in the woods. A man was standing there, with his wife, peering into the darkness, just as if he had been expected Arthas. His wife looked concerned, and as Arthas approached she looked terrified. She fled into the house, but the man did not follow. He raised his hearthstone.

'My life for Ner'zhul.' he intoned, and he was gone in the green mist.

Arthas remained standing there for a moment or two and saw that the man's wife was watching in terror through the windows. After a moment Arthas turned his horse, and made his way on into the darkness, driven by the same force he did not understand to press on further into the woods. The Cult of the Damned had been drawn from the people of Lordaeron. He'd known this, of course, but it had never dawned on him just what it entailed. To convince people to leave their friends and family, possibly to even sacrifice them to undeath, Kel'thuzad must have been brilliantly charismatic. Even in death, the necromancer continued to surprise him.

He was dragged from his musings as he saw the light of a campfire up ahead, and as he rode onward, he saw a woman bound in nets. She was a member of the cult of the damned, he could tell and a rather pretty member at that. Around them were a number of bandits, clad in brown armor with axes near them. Some held javelins. Bucklers were on their off hand and they were speaking among themselves. He wondered why the bandits were keeping her alive.

'So when are we gonna break in this bitch?' asked one.

'When the others get back from slaughtering those villagers those prissy paladins relocated here.' said another. 'We ain't starting without em.'

'Aw come on, just let me have a go at her. I'll let you all go before me when we get to the main event.' said the other.

Ah, that was why. A surge of contempt went through Arthas as he readied Frostmourne. 'You won't be alive long enough to learn their fates.' he said, voice as cold as Northrend. His voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere.

The bandits picked up their weapons and looked around fearfully. 'Who said that?! Where are you, ya coward!'

Arthas let them sweat for just a moment. Then urging Invincible forward he surged through the trees and raised Frostmourne. The knowledge of a powerful spell entered his mind unbidden, and he unleashed it. Death coil, the terrible spell dreaded during the second war now descended upon one of these wretches. He screamed and died in moments, as the others attacked. Two spears surged through the air and were deflected by Frostmourne, as Arthas descended on the last axe wielding bandit. The man raised his shield, but Frostmourne slashed right through it, carving through the arm behind an finally splitting the man in half from the shoulder down. Two more javelins were thrown, and one was deflected, while the other plunged into Arthas' shoulder, sending him from his horse. He ignored the pain, it was nothing, and rose and leaped over the campfire to cut down the javelineer responsible. Then he turned on one foot and hurling Frostmourne through the air to plunge into his last enemies heart.

The sword gleamed in relish of its bloody victory as the slain's souls were absorbed. Arthas made his way over to the body, and removed Frostmourne. For a moment he felt a surge of frustration at his own apparent weakness. Then he made his way over to the cultist and cut the net. 'Are you alright? You're safe now.'

'Its you...' she said, her voice filled with awe. 'I... I never thought I would live to see the day of your coming my lord. I am at your disposal.'

'It is not in my nature to leave anyone in the clutches of such filth.' said Arthas 'For now, go to the place of meeting you have been told of. We have much work to do.'

'My life for Ner'zhul.' She said with a blush.

Creative, weren't they?

With that out of the way, Arthas gripped the spear in his shoulder and drew it out with a wince. The pain was only momentary, and before his very eyes the flesh which had before been torn badly began to knit itself. He felt stronger now. Much stronger, actually, and he liked the feeling. He had the feeling that he would be better able to control his power.

He spent a day recovering from his wounds sustained against the knights and the bandits, and when the sun had fallen, and nightfall was again upon them, he mounted Invincible, and rode into the time he took a roundabout way through the woods to avoid confronting the village he had faced before. He did glimpse it from afar, and saw the villagers recounting the story of their battle over a fire with a number of friends. Despite himself, Arthas smiled though he felt nothing.

This time he took a roundabout way through the woods to avoid confronting the village he had faced before. He did glimpse it from afar and saw the villagers recounting the story of their battle over a fire with a number of friends. Despite himself, Arthas smiled though he felt nothing. By the time he found his way back to the gate he had passed a full day had come and gone, and it was dark once more. Arthas approached the gate and paused. Then he looked once again at the sword in his hand, gleaming joyfully, and shrugged. He attacked. Once! Twice! Thrice! He struck the gate, and with each blow, it splintered and twisted until it fell apart before him and he rode forward.

Even as he did so a man rushed forward to meet him, trailed by guards. 'I bow to your will!' he called, raising aloft his hearthstone, and he was gone.

Arthas did not bother to fight the guards. He recognized at once that the time for stealth had altogether passed, and now his only choice was battle or speed. The Prince of Lordaeron chose speed. Like a bolt of lightning he sped through the streets, sword held aloft, and all that beheld him fled in terror or raised their hearthstones in salute, before fading into mist. The guards could not lay hand or blade upon him, for he was the faster, and his horsemanship was unrivaled amongst the knights.

He found a place where cultists were being prepared to be burned at the stake, and slipping past the guards hacked their ropes apart and freed them. In the chaos, they slipped away, as from every street soldiers rushed in the commotion to see what was happening. Riding towards one group, Invincible leaped high over them and landed beyond them. The guards turned and gave chase as he rode onwards. On and on the chase continued as the guards desperately tried to stop him, but at last his business was complete.

He knew now that all he had come here to collect were now safely away. Riding away, he urged Invincible into a gallop and launched them both right over the wall and onto the road beyond. The enemy did not pursue him further, and he was easily able to get past those who remained between him and his destination.

He was victorious.

* * *

Arthas Menethil was a man of his word.

He had been sent into the bastion of his enemies power to recruit the Cult of the Damned from among countless soldiers of the alliance. And he had done so without killing a single innocent. If anything the people of this region were safer than they had been, since the Cult was removed and the bandits had been wiped away. The humans whispered, and multiplied and rebuilt their civilization. Tichondrius found this result… distressing. However he had achieved his objective, so he was disinclined to question the matter.

Now the two of them stood upon a hill, with the cultists below them, chanting worship endlessly, their hands moving as they performed eldritch ceremonies. The Dreadlord turned to Arthas after a moment and spoke in recognition of his accomplishments.

'Well done, Death Knight.' Tichondirus said 'The cult is nearly assembled.'

'Lordaeron lies in ashes.' said Arthas simply. 'What good are these cultists to us now?'

'They will aid you in your next undertaking.' replied Tichodrius, in a patient voice which belied his irritation.

'And what's that?' Asked Arthas, straight to the point as always.

Tichondrius smiled and it was not a pleasant smile. 'You will go to Andorhal, and recover the remains of the acolyte's former master, the Necromancer, Kel'thuzad.'

At these words, the Death Knight looked more than a little disturbed. This did not bode well.

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

So yeah, this is based on an actual play through I did of the first Undead Mission. If you are good enough at stealth and micro you can win the entire mission without killing anyone, except for the bandits in the top left corner of the screen. You have to kill them to free the cultists nearby, so it's not possible to do a full pacifist run.

I may expand this story. If I do, the idea will be to make a story based on the idea that the 'player' went through the entire Undead Campaign while doing the bare minimum amount of destruction necessary to win each mission. This playthrough is quite possible with virtually every faction, since the game rarely forces you to kill everything on the map to proceed. The only faction where this is arguably a bad thing in universe is the Alliance Campaign, since you spend the entire thing fighting utterly evil opponents who need to be killed for the sake of everyone else, and arguably the battle against the Warsong Clan. Yet the Orc Campaign and Night Elf Campaigns are spent mostly fighting people who are in their own way good guys, so avoiding bloodshed is probably for the best.

Seriously, try giving it a shot. It adds a really interesting challenge to every mission. For instance, in the Sunwell Mission, almost everyone takes out Sylvanas before they take out the Sunwell. The reason being that she has access to the only gold expansion, and will constantly be harassing you. But to play a minimum bloodshed undead campaign, you have to win without destroying that base. Which means you can't get banshees and have a severely limited resource pool. To be completely honest, I've never managed it.

Just think about it this way, every base you destroy is actually a village. When you destroy all the buildings in an Alliance Base, you are brutally butchering an entire community. The 'moral' thing to do is destroy the troop producing buildings, and maybe the town center and leave everything else standing. Or, better yet, weather their assaults and complete your objective. The same can be said for when you assault an orc village, you should leave the Pig Farms and Burrows standing. The only exception is the Undead Scourge, who are basically a terrorist organization, so you can exterminate them with a relatively clean conscience.

It's funny, people talk about Warcraft 1 as if it was a black and white morality game, but having recently replayed it, I know it wasn't. Because every base is a village, and both sides require you to destroy all buildings and units, you spend the entire thing basically committing ethnic cleansing against the rival faction. The Orcs just happened to have enough numbers that when the dust settled, they had enough guys coming through the Dark Portal to force the humans out. Both of them were equally vicious and wicked to each other, just with different motives.

Keep in mind that if you manage to complete a minimum bloodshed run of Warcraft III you are giving Warcraft III a much happier ending. The Third War is not nearly so devastating in a minimum bloodshed run, as it is if you mindlessly destroy every base for completions sake. It's still not a happy ending, but the fact that Arthas doesn't die is mitigated by the fact that he was a Noble Demon, who avoided destroying enemies he didn't have to.

That said, my gaming computer is presently on the fritz, and I'll need to get it repaired. Consequently, I sincerely doubt I'll be able to write a sequel to this until then. I may end up changing this chapter up significantly later, to make it work better within the mission.

Oh, and if anyone is wondering why Arthas Menethil was having trouble defeating a regular Knight, keep in mind that he is level one right now. A level one Death Knight is just about equally matched with a Knight, if they blow all their MP on Death Coils, they will win. But they will be badly injured after the fact.

 **EDIT:**

Changed a bunch of parts of the story to make it flow better, and give Arthas a bit more personality. Also, I just realized that you don't _have_ to kill all the bandits. You only have to kill _one_ of the bandits. The javelineer at the back of the line. Then the acolyte becomes rescuable. My mistake, and too late to change it now.

 **DOUBLE EDIT:**

Added a prologue detailing the expedition to Northrend's reaction to victory. Also a bit of foreshadowing there, and elaborating on the breakup between Muradin's men and Arthas' men, which is not recorded in any great detail.

 **TRIPLE EDIT:**

Removed the prologue detailing the expedition to Northrends reaction to victory, since it was all accounted for in a manner which contradicted this prologue in Wrath of the Light. I also changed many of the scenes in this chapter to be better written. For the most part what I did was replace straight exposition with scenes between various characters. I also substantially altered the bandit sequence to give the bandits a reason to be keeping a Cult of the Damned member hostage, and elaborate on Arthas' remaining protective instincts.

Also lampshaded how Arthas lost like ten thousand levels of badassery apparently overnight.

If you are rereading this, I'd appreciate it if you gave a new review regarding this chapter.


	2. Digging up the Dead

**Chapter Two: Digging up the Dead**

How had it come to this?  
The question echoed through now Regent Uther Lightbringer's mind as he waited within his quarters. Waited for what? By all accounts, the land around him was at peace. The front was further north, and so far the militia had driven back all assaults with ease. Yet it was a deep breath before the plunge if Uther knew anything. He'd seen such lulls in the fighting during the Second War. They always broke eventually. He was so used to wearing his armor, that he felt naked only wearing monks robes. Yet at present, there was no great cause for alarm, at least openly.

King Terenas was dead. He had died weeks ago and by the hand of his only son. Uther had kept _that_ particular revelation a closely guarded secret. They never spoke of Arthas by name, for fear that they might wither spirits even more. Now Vandemar had come under attack, although those words were perhaps too strong. It was more as though a dark presence, a Death Knight with hair as pale as death had entered that realm and departed it just as swiftly. Only a few bandits had died by his hand, but many villagers had revealed themselves to be his subjects and departed. Fisherman, woodsman, bakers, and husbands all had departed that realm to aid the mad Prince. For Uther was certain it was Arthas who was responsible for this.

He was the only remaining scourge commander they knew of that fit the description. All of the others would have massacred the towns without restraint. Perhaps some remnant of Arthas remained within him, fighting whatever dark enchantments had changed him. Or perhaps Uther was merely the subject of wishful thinking. It didn't change his responsibility.

The map lay upon the table, and the four Paladins looked over it together, as Uther mused over the past and how far things had fallen apart. 'The enemy is moving,' He said to his comrades at. 'the unveiling of the cultists alone is evidence of that. This... peace of fear, is about to be shattered, for better or worse.' He paused. 'The only question that remains, is what is their plan?'

'Perhaps they merely desire to raise another army and cause destruction.' suggested Sage Truthbearer, white-bearded and oldest looking of them, though he was younger than most thought.

'No,' said Uther 'the graveyards were left undefiled, and the Death Knight went out of his way to avoid killing anyone. If his goal was carnage for its own sake, he would have at least slaughtered some of the villagers. Light knows there are enough defenseless people in that region.' He felt his age as he said that, now more than ever. 'He's after something, something we're overlooking...' Then he stopped, as his finger landed upon a point on the map. 'The tomb of Kel'thuzad is some ways east of Vandemar. Though I don't want to think of it, we must ensure the necromancer does not rise again. Gavinrad, you have been with us from the beginning, will you take charge of this work?'

'I will.' said Gavinrad, bowing his head.

Gavinrad had been one of the first paladins, alongside Uther, Turylyon, Tirion Fordring, and Saiden Dethronan. Saiden was fighting elsewhere, having become increasingly vengeful and distant from the others. Tirion was in disgrace, living in hermitage after betraying the Alliance to the orcs. Turylyon was lost in the destruction of Draenor during the second war. That just left Uther and Gavinrad at the end of things. Uther could only pray that Gavinrad was successful, or else things would start all over again...

* * *

Anderhol had improved a bit since Arthas had last been here. The blight upon the ground had lessened, and fall was upon the trees. Even so, the life here was making something of a recovery from the blight. It was a bitter irony that an event which before he would have viewed with joy now was but a mistake in need of correction. Two windmills spun lazily upon a hill, as grain was gathered for the year beneath it, and uncorrupted grain at that. The villagers had been busy of late.

Not that the millers were at work, for they had fled in terror at the host of undead which now gathered upon the road just west of the tomb of Kel'thuzad. Arthas Menethil watched as a strange and surreally nightmarish thing he'd ever seen arrived. He had seen its sort before, of course, but he'd never had the chance to ask the question which came to mind.

'What the hell is that?' It was a meat wagon, of course, but that was its name, not what it was.

One of the Acolytes pushing it halted his labors and approached. 'This crude contraption will allow you to transport the remains of our master.' he explained, wiping some sweat from his pale brow.

'Can you not simply raise the remains when we find them?' asked Arthas in irritation.

'Pardon Lord,' said the Acolyte. 'but a being of Kel'thuzad's power can only be resurrected at a nexus of powerful ley energies, and there are no such places in this land.'

That... made no sense whatsoever, given how easily Arthas had thrashed him last time. Then again, the wizard hadn't exactly cast any spells and he _had_ been one of the Six at one point. Perhaps he hadn't had the chance. 'Very well then,' said Arthas ' let's move out.'

A force of ghouls had been provided for him, a courtesy of Tichondrius with which to achieve his mission, and Arthas connected with their minds, and to his surprise realized they held a feral sort of intelligence. Of course said intelligence was focused entirely on eating the flesh of the dead, and following orders, but it was still intelligence of a sort. He motioned to them, and they followed him onwards. The column of undead had the prince at the lead, the ghouls behind, and the meat wagons third in line.

They made their way swiftly onwards until they came into sight of a group of footmen clad in orange, wielding swords and shields, and wearing heavy armor. To their credit, they did not flee before the encroaching undead but bravely sought to bar their path. The battle could hardly be called that, however for the enemy were badly outnumbered, and fell swiftly before the onslaught of the undead. When the battle was over, the ghouls feasted on their flesh and what wounds they had sustained were healed. On they traveled, past fading trees preparing for winter. A tension of sorts was in the air, for Arthas was certain his move would not go unchecked. Uther was no fool.

Then the formation came to a halt.

Before them on the road lay a house, and by that house was a tower manned with archers. Beneath the shadow of the tower was a Paladin. Gavinrad was his name, and he was among the first paladins to live. Arthas approached slowly, and alone, commanding his forces to remain behind. Gavinrad spoke, in a voice clear and brilliant.

'Arthas, stop this madness before it is too late!'

Arthas appreciated the second chance. Thus he returned the favor. 'Stand aside, brother.' he replied 'I've come to collect some old bones, and I don't wish to be disturbed.' With any luck, the Paladin would acknowledge his authority, and step aside. Nothing of the sort happened, however, as Arthas approached him.

Finally, Gavinrad raised his hammer. There was a flash of light, and Arthas felt a power he once knew well course through him. Once it would have been comforting, filling him with new hope. Now nothing could be more painful to him, and his horse reared as he was burned terribly. Snarling as he raised Frostmourne he sent a death coil hurtling towards Gavinrad, who took the bolt straight to the chest and weathered it. The Paladin saw the undead approaching, and turned and moved away without another word.

Arthas was not such a fool as to try and catch him when a tower barred his path. He turned in the saddle to the cultists manning the meat wagons. 'Bring that tower down!'

'Yes milord!'

The meat wagons launched boulders and bodies, hurtling through the air to smash into the tower. Again and again, they launched, and each time the tower became more and more unstable, its defenders ducking for cover. Several arrows were fired in return, but they were out of range. Eventually, the defenders abandoned their posts altogether, shortly before a stone hit the bulwark, and the tower collapsed in on itself. The undead force moved onwards to their destination, paying no heed to the houses where families cowered in fear.

Before them lay a fortified village. Many archers stood atop towers built high and strong, and several clear down those defenses. 'The rest of you,' He motioned to the Ghouls, who looked up. 'stand ready to wipe out the defenders once the towers fall. Avoid destroying anything you don't have to. No farms are to be destroyed, and the villagers will be left alone.'

A single volley of the meat wagons was launched at the cannon tower, slamming into it, and making the tower shudder. Even as they prepared to fire again, however, there came a horn call, and the footmen who before had been standing guard rushed forward. It seemed they had no intention of waiting to be shelled out of their fortifications. With a mental command, Arthas ordered the meat wagons back, and led his ghouls to meet the footmen halfway, just out of shot from the towers.

The fray was vicious, like many he had seen before. Yet this time it was from the opposing side that he stood. The ghouls clawed with knifelike talons at the footmen's armor, as the footmen slashed with all the strength and courage they could muster. Arthas rode into the fray and brought his sword down to cleave the skull of an unlucky footman, before sending a death coil to restore the health of a badly wounded ghoul. Suddenly his attention was distracted, he looked up and saw that during the fray, the meat wagons had begun to shell the farms they had left behind. Harshly he commanded them away, yet during that time several of his warriors fell, and he was forced to return to the battle.

At last, all of the enemy who had sallied forth lay dead, and the remaining defenders could be perceived upon the fortifications, grimly awaiting the assault. Not taking any chances, Arthas ordered his meat wagons forward to continue the assault, while his ghouls stood by and waited. The bombardment of the village lasted more than half a day, with endless corpses and stones hurled from the meat wagons into the towers, which shook beneath the force. Moans and screams of horror could be heard within. The crying of a child within one of the farms could be heard, yet still, Arthas held his ground, determined not to be swayed from his duty.

One of the towers fell into rubble, and the meat wagons turned their full attention to the other. After some time of the shelling, that tower too had been turned to rubble. Arthas breathed in, then out, then ordered his forces forward to meet whatever resistance remained.

Gavinrad the Dire was waiting for him, and he did not go gently. He rushed forward with equal troops to Arthas, and the two met in battle. Paladin against death knight, ghoul against footmen, the brutal combat raged back and forth across the road. Gavinrad slew three ghouls with a swipe of his hammer, before using the light to heal a mortally wounded comrade. The line was forced back, and one of the meatwagons was cut to pieces, the cultists slain. The others pulled away. Arthas ran a soldier through, only for the soldier to arise once more as Gavinrad healed him. A ghoul was felled by a sword stroke, as a footman was gouged to death by one of its comrades. Blood spilled over the leaf-strewn ground, as body after body was sent broken to the ground. Arthas rallied his forces, and cut down two footmen with two swift strikes, their heads falling to the ground as their bodies collapsed moments later.

Finally, it was only Arthas and Gavinrad remaining, standing over the corpses of their armies. They paused for a moment, breathing before Gavinrad spoke. 'I can't believe we ever called you brother! I knew it was a mistake to allow a spoiled Prince into our order! You've made a mockery of the Silver Hand!'

Arthas did not see any reason to answer. He could taunt him, but that would only serve to enrage him, and so he merely dismounted from his horse and charged, Frostmourne gripped in two hands. Gavinrad met him halfway. The two met head-on, clashing blade against hammer endlessly in a flurry of blows, and it soon became apparent that they were equally matched. For although Gavinrad was nowhere near Arthas' power when he had been a Paladin, the wielding of the dark arts was still new to him. He parried a bone-crushing stroke and wounded Gavinrad across the leg. Arthas got the butt of Gavinrad's hammer to the face for that and felt certain that a lesser man would have had a broken neck. Their weapons locked, and Arthas shoved down Gavinrad's guard, before slamming him with Frostmourne's pommel, driving him back. Yet before he could finish him, Gavinrad on recovered.

On and on the combat raged, until both were drenched with sweat, and covered with many wounds. Their breathing was ragged, their armor was dented, their cloaks were torn. Finally, Gavinrad roared a battle cry and both made one final charge, which Arthas in turn met. They passed each other, and for a single moment, neither knew who had emerged the victor. Arthas fell to one knee, supporting himself with one hand as his blade was driven into the turf. Gavinrad glanced back, eyes filled with righteous fury before he fell to the ground dead.

For a few moments, Arthas was silent as he looked at the body, lying face down on the ground. It truly was finished. If there had been any hope of going back before, it was gone now. He had slain one of the paladin order, one of the first. Then again, there had never really been much hope after his Father died. He arose again, and made his way over to Invincible, pulling himself up painfully onto his horse's back.

He looked at the village around him. No one else dared challenge him, they hid in their houses terrified out of their mind. So much the better, it saved him the trouble of killing them. Let them hide. Frostmourne urged him to slaughter them all, to burn this village to the ground, but he turned away and made for the graveyard, motioning for the acolytes to follow. They left behind them the body of Gavinrad the Dire and his men and made their way to the Tomb of Kel'thuzad. Twice he nearly fell from his saddle during this time. Yet as he neared the grave, he found the corruption in the earth filling his limbs with unholy strength. His wounds were healing, and he soon once more stood upright in the saddle as he came before the Tomb. Arthas looked up at the towering structure, very expensive and prepared in advance. He dismounted and made his way to the door of stone. It was sealed with spells, and he drew his sword and struck the door.

Sparks flew, and the door broke to pieces with greater ease than he had expected. Arthas entered the tomb, the only light from the sun outside. He was followed by the acolytes. Within they found a sarcophagus, and Arthas pulled the lid from it, before beholding the body of Kel'thuzad. It was badly decomposed, and broken in many places. 'Come along now, Necromancer.' he said 'The powers that you once served have need of you again.' The acolytes gently picked up the corpse, with a great reference and carried it to the meat wagons.

 _'_ _Told you, my death would mean little…'_ said a voice.

'What the… am I hearing ghosts now?' asked Arthas in surprise.

The specter of Kel'thuzad appeared before him, much as he had in life before the Prince had gotten to him. _'It is I, Kel'thuzad. I was right about you, Prince Arthas.'_

* * *

Once again the Prince of Lordaeron had fulfilled the letter of his orders, while ignoring their intent, reflected Tichondrius. The military might of his enemy had been destroyed, to be sure, and the ground now belonged to the scourge. Yet the villagers had been left to their own devices, and many of them were now fleeing with all they owned behind the lines of the Paladins. There they would no doubt become a valuable resource and source of manpower for the enemy.

The death knight arrived some two days after the death of Gavinrad the Dire. Tichondrius regard him in irritation. 'It took you long enough.' He made his way over to the meat wagons and gazed inside. 'These remains are badly decomposed. They will never survive the trip to Quel'thalas.'

'Quel'thalas?' asked the death knight, a tinge of something in his tone.

'Yes,' said Tichondrius 'only the energies of the high elves Sunwell can bring Kel'thuzad back to life.' He and Arthas made their way some ways onwards to the site Tichondrius had chosen for the new fortress.

'Then what must be done?' asked Arthas.

'You must steal a very special urn from the Paladins keeping.' said Tichondrius. 'Place the Necromancers remains within it, and he will be well protected for the journey.'

'As you wish.' said Arthas with a nod, and Tichondrius was gone.

Of course, there was no question of beginning the attack now, for though Tichondrius had provided some more ghouls for Arthas' use, the scourges standing forces had been devastated by Arthas and Uther. So much of their strategy had relied upon Stratholme, and now it was Arthas' task to pick up the pieces. Many necromancers had been killed in the prodigious bloodshed that had ensued during Hearthglen and Anderhol, and the fall of Drak'theron Keep and most of them were scattered and divided. The acolytes were many in number and determined, yet they were still perfecting their craft. Much like Arthas was, actually.

'No wonder no one has challenged my leadership.' reflected Arthas ruefully 'I already killed everyone but the rank novices.'

'Death is but a stepping stone in the greater scheme of things,' said a necromancer ruefully as he approached. 'we understand this, and so must you, Great Lord.'

Arthas turned to the Necromancer fully and raised an eyebrow. 'And who are you, pray tell?'

'My name is unimportant.' said the Necromancer 'I have been bidden by the Lich King to build this area into a Fortress from which to launch our conquests. If you wish, I will explain the workings of the Scourge.'

'I wish it.' he answered.

As the Necromancer directed the Acolytes to various tasks, he explained many things to Arthas which he had only suspected. The blight which had always accompanied buildings of the scourge, it seemed, was, in fact, a result of their structures. While upon the blight, wounded servants of the Lich King regenerated their wounds. The lessons on the exact workings of ghouls and other such entities were actually rather interesting, as were the details of how Kel'thuzad had gathered and organized the Cult of the Damned.

It almost made what happened to the Alliance karmic, but then Arthas remembered that a great many arguably innocent people suffered and died for the vengeance of a few. Of course, his emotional investment in the subject was entirely theoretical, but he noted some parallels between his own fall and the rise of the Cult of the Damned. No wonder they viewed him as a prophesied messiah, his journey was practically exactly the same.

Which still left it open as to why Kel'thuzad had known to make said prophesy.

The construction of the new fortress took well over a week, and it rained half the time. At this time no sign was heard or seen of the Paladins or their servants, at first a little. It was the calm before the storm, so to speak. Eventually, Arthas was seized by a sudden restlessness, which he could not shake off. He rode away from the camp, forward towards where he knew the Paladins might lie in wait for him. Presently came to the outskirts of a city, where he saw a number of villagers milling about in the streets. They saw him, and did not flee, yet neither did they take up arms. They merely remained silent. Staring in silent determination at the dark cloaked figure before them. Beyond them, Arthas could see a Paladin, Ballador the Bright if he recalled correctly. He could tell by the way the light clung to him that he was stronger than Gavinrad, and well armed at that. Around him was organized a force of Footmen.

Arthas did not go further, for he suspected that the villagers waiting here were a bit too convenient to fall easily. He rode back to the base, and suddenly something occurred to him. He knew these lands well, and he knew there was a bridge a little ways south of here that might still be standing. If it was, it was essential that he know. For a second bridge could provide the means by which the Alliance might launch an assault to the south.

Seeking to answer that question, he rode past the ziggurats coming into being, past the Necropolis which had just been completed, and made his way through the river into rocky lands where no one dwelled. The river had receded over the intervening months, and the murlocs had retreated, so he had no trouble getting across, and into rocky lands where no one dwelled, save for rock golems. The massive creatures wandered aimlessly, their footfalls shaking the earth around them as they sought something to smash. Arthas choose to avoid them for now and rode onwards, carefully skirting around the edge of their vision. He recalled that they sensed vibrations in the ground from nearby creatures. Jaina had told him that.

As he pressed on he found his way into a little hamlet, with paved streets and shingled roofs. A number of trees were here and there, which in summer must have made it a pleasant site. Yet there was no one to be seen, save a man desperately trying to light a fire near the center of town. Arthas suddenly realized that he was very cold indeed, and wondered why it didn't bother him. The man looked up as Arthas approached, and seeing the violet cloaked rider atop a skeletal steed, fled in terror. He did not return when Arthas moved on.

Arthas had let him escape, for he felt no urgency to pursue his enemies. He sensed very little life from this place, now that he thought of it. Not even the sort coming from beetles and ants. Yet neither was there the anti-life which was associated with blight. The land was not dying, yet it dared not live in the presence of something else. The insects themselves fled from what dwelled here now. It was not him, he knew that much.

He dismounted and made his way over to the windows and gazed through them. He saw within the house a child cowering beneath a table and became very pale as Arthas looked through. He said nothing. Arthas felt nothing and turned and pulled himself atop Invincible once more. Finally, he came to the bridge and was disappointed. It had been cast down and broken apart at the halfway point. Which meant that no attacks could be launched by either side across it. It was unfortunate, he could have circumvented an entire town in that manner.

Yet some elusive presence bade him press further onwards, to seek this mystery to its end, and find out what was affecting this place so. Something was stoking his curiosity. On into the orange leafed woods he rode, until he came to the edge of the river. In a little glade, there stood Tichondrius, and before him were many villagers, standing entranced. Tichondrius noted his presence and said nothing. Neither did Arthas speak as he dismounted, holding the bridle of Invincible in his right hand, his left on Frostmourne.

'I must feast, on souls.' Tichondrius said, before raising a hand with the artful poise of a fencer.

The first in the line of villagers, of men, woman, and children were consumed in flames, screaming as he was devoured. Arthas flinched, though he felt nothing, and felt as though he should take some action. Tichondrius moved down the line and did the same to a woman, who cried and wept as she too was consumed and burnt to ashes. Arthas found himself feeling certain reserved horror as one by one they were consumed, and felt absolutely certain that were he as he once had been he would be running to their aid. One by one Tichondrius did the same to each villager in turn. He looked down and found that his hand was clutching Frostmourne tightly. He compensated for his lack of emotions with the realization that he greatly desired to kill Tichondrius, though he felt absolutely nothing for those he was killing.

Finally, there were no more villagers in the clearing, and the only sound remaining was the running of the river. After a moment the Dreadlord turned to him with a look that said he had guessed his mind and simply said: 'I grow tired of waiting.'

Arthas said nothing, for there was nothing to say. This was the force he now served, and he pulled himself atop his horse and turned Invincible to ride back to the camp. He scarcely noticed the path ahead of him as he did so, and he was rudely brought to awareness when he saw a rock golem rushing after him. He turned Invincible, and danced away from its fist, and rushed away over the river, which splashed beneath him. The wind was brisk and filled with the scent of fresh carrion as he arrived in the Fortress, now well underway. A graveyard had been summoned near the trees, surrounded by skeletons for the use of Necromancers Arthas did not have. The ground was blackened and withered. Many trees had changed coloration to reflect the growing corruption within the woods.

The Prince made his way to the front of the line and noted that many acolytes were already working within the newly summoned crypt to create ghouls for the army. A green light emanated from the crypt, veiling the cultists in shadow as they performed their unholy rituals. Several ghouls were waiting for him at the northern edge of camp, near a line of ziggurats had been erected to guard all but a small portion of the road ahead, and stood foreboding against the rising sun.

The necromancer emerged and approached him. 'Ah, Lord Arthas,' he said with a nod of his head. 'you have returned. I have established a wall of ziggurats to aid in the defense of our lands.'

'A wall will do no good if it cannot fire upon our enemies.' noted Arthas ruefully, as he noted there was nowhere for an archer to stand on it.

'All in good time, my Lord.' replied the necromancer with a smile.

At that moment a horn call sounded, and around the bend in the northern road came a great force of Alliance footmen. Their numbers were greater than all the ghouls Arthas possessed, their swords were keen, their shields were broad, and they charged the defense with lethal intent.

'Time is luxury we cannot afford.' noted Arthas, before raising his sword. 'To battle my warriors! Slay them all!' Invincible rose up on its hind legs and kicked at the air, before breaking into a charge, leading the ghouls with them. The two forces met at the gap between the ziggurats and engaged in mortal combat.

The fighting was close and brutal. Arthas rode down the first of his enemies, and hewed a shield in twain with a single strike, taking off an arm. Yet he took a slash across the cheek for his trouble and felt fresh blood spill over his neck. Meat wagons cast their missiles into the fray, heedless of their own forces. A man fell beneath the onslaught of the ghouls, as a great stone crushed a footman, and a ghoul he was fighting. Two ghouls rushed to meet a single footman, only for the first to be hacked in twain, and the second knocked on its back and finished off. Arthas rode forth and stabbed Frostmourne down through mans back before his comrades pulled Arthas down to the ground. They raised their swords to finish him, but then a pack of ghouls was on them in a fury, and Invincible slammed past them. The ensuing butchery continued, as Arthas pulled himself up by Invincible's bridle, and choose to fight on foot for the remainder of the combat. Spinning Frostmourne, he slashed off the head of a footman, parried a blow and ran another through, before passing by three of them.

Moments later those he had passed collapsed into a heap of limbs. Satisfied with his work, Arthas rejoined the fray.

After several minutes more of brutal fighting, only Arthas remained in the defense. Two footmen had survived, injured though they were and they charged him together. Arthas parried a blow and struck off the head of the one, before skirting around and running him through from behind. Removing the sword, Arthas cleaned the blood from it and breathed. It was over.

Then he made his way back into camp, where the acolytes were watching with awe. 'Summon more ghouls,' said Arthas 'at once.' He said shortly, before walking past them. 'And transform those ziggurats! We can't afford to lose our entire defending force every time they attack!' His cheek had healed from the wound, but the sting of it was still on him.

He then proceeded to make his way south and wash clean of the blood of battle in the river. Doing so was an entirely optional choice, but it felt good to get the blood and sweat which had built up around him off. He had not actually died, yet he was still a fugitive from the light. What was he, exactly? He didn't know, but it troubled him.

Another day passed, during which the ziggurats were crowned with dark crystals that symbolized their defensive power. They were now known as spirit towers. More ghouls were created for battle {partially from the corpses of the fallen footmen}, faster they had been before, and little by little things began to better

Yet another assault took place at midday, as another force of footmen arrived, charging the defense line with swords gleaming. Once again, Arthas and his ghouls went and this time the ziggurats were firing down upon them from above. This combat far more one-sided, and during the ensuing battle, many more humans were killed than ghouls. By the time the battle had ended, Arthas now felt confident enough to press his advantage.

Even so, he waited for a time, arranging for the summoning of more ghouls, before heading north over the course of the next day. When darkness began to fall, he made his way to the town, then turned aside into the woods, heading north and upwards into a hilly region where few men tread. Making his way through the forests, he came to a camp of a wizard and what looked to be his two apprentices. They had set no watch and were still sleeping. It would be a simple matter to slay them all.

Arthas raised Frostmourne to fire a death coil, then thought better of it and directed Invincible to turn round with his mind, before making his way back to the Fortress. He was not sure why he had come here at all, other than a desire to see what lay beyond the next rise. However, he saw no reason to murder without purpose. By the time he reached the wall, the ghouls were feasting on the corpses of a dead band of humans who had not learned from their predecessor's example. The ghouls had increased in number, and now he was satisfied that all that could have been done was being done.

'Keep the Fortress intact.' he said to the necromancer. 'While I deal with the Paladins.'

'Of course, Lord Arthas.'

The undead army marched along the road in a great column, and all around them birds and beasts fled them in terror until at last, they came at last to a halt before the gates of the town. Arthas led them forward, and the villagers standing up looked at them unflinchingly. Even so, Arthas had no intention of massacring them, though he suspected this was a trap.

Then he came before Ballador the Bright, and his assembled warriors. Ballador hefted his hammered and charged. 'Vile betrayer!' he cried as Arthas caught his hammer on his sword, and all hell broke loose. 'You are not fit enough to even carry your Fathers name!' Arthas was forced to yield ground before the onslaught as the villagers revealed axes and knives and charged the undead from both sides, catching them in a pincer movement. 'Why Uther ever vouched for you is beyond me! You've stripped him of his honor, by casting yours to the wind!' Arthas attempted to go on the offensive, but Ballador would not yield an inch. 'You deserve a gruesome death boy!' The forces of Alliance closed in around the undead, who fought in a circle of dead flesh. Only the meat wagons had escaped the all-encompassing net, and their shots proved to make little difference.

The battle waged without relent, Arthas being forced to disengage from Ballador, and focus on his other enemies. He used death coil's to heal his undead, which slowed the onslaught, but though they inflicted heavy casualties on the Alliance, he somehow knew it was a lost cause. On and on the battle waged, as both humans and undead dwindled in number. Ballador met Arthas once more, and this time the Death Knight dismounted to fight him. Turning aside his hammer, Arthas wounded Ballador in the side, forcing him to pull back. Before Arthas could press his advantage, the footmen barred his path.

Most of the villagers who had joined the fray were dead. Yet the Undead were badly wounded, and most were destroyed. Arthas could see more Alliance soldiers heading their way, even as the battle waged. He knew what he had to do. He made no verbal command, ordering the retreat, for he had no time for it. However, all his subjects knew his will and obeyed, pulling back to the town, pursued by the Alliance forces. Most of them gave up the chase as they left the bounds of the town, but some followed them all the way to the wall, where they were torn apart by spirit towers.

The irony was that for any human army, such a defeat would have been disastrous. Yet for the scourge, it was a partial success. The Paladin had driven him off once, but he had exhausted many resources to do it. Another day passed, during which an eerie silence overtook the lands. Then another, during which all preparations were made. More ghouls were created to fuel the army, and Arthas led them onwards against the Paladin once more. This time there was no militia to interfere, and the Paladin was waiting.

Not alone, as Arthas had hoped, for he had rallied additional Footmen during the lull, yet far fewer in number than he had been before. The undead charged, and the battle was joined. The battle was far harder than Arthas had expected, for Ballador and his men fought like mad, endlessly hacking and slashing without relent. Moreover, the meat wagons soon proved more a hindrance than a help, casting stones and bodies that hit their own forces as much as the enemies. Ballador's men were forced into a knot, and there made their stand, surrounded by darkness, Ballador's aura gleaming like a star as he hewed about him with his hammer.

Until at last Ballador fell in battle, Frostmourne piercing his chest. Arthas had crept up behind him, and run him through when no one was looking. A dishonorable method, but far from the worst thing Arthas had done. He directed his forces to leave the body in peace.

Yet there was no time to celebrate, for even as Ballador had fallen a force of alliance soldiers arrived from further south in the city, and Arthas was forced once more to yield ground. His tattered forces once more fled to the abode of the defensive wall and there made their stand, and once more the Alliance was repulsed by its strength. Yet their assault was in vain, and soon they retreated back to their defense.

Two more days passed before the undead were able to recover from their defeat, and a third, for Arthas desired to ensure no more such retreats were necessary. Finally, when he had amassed a great host of ghouls, he called them to him and made his way along the road. He noted that with the death of Ballador the Bright the defenders of the town had taken up a position in the northern corner of the town well away from his path. The citizens were gathered there fearfully, as the footmen stood ready to defend to the last.

They needn't have bothered. With the paladin dead, Arthas saw no reason to pursue them any further. He pressed onwards to the south, through two gates into the southern section of the city. There he encountered a force of knights who charged his undead, ready to do battle. The undead surrounded them and attacked their outnumbered opponent with vicious abandon. Yet even as all hope seemed lost for the Knights, a force of footmen rushed forward and joined the fray. Arthas himself felled a knight with a blow to the head that split his helm.

The battle raged on, and after many vicious strikes, and mighty deeds, the alliance lay defeated. Arthas had suffered some casualties, yet he was unwilling to retreat just yet. He brought his forces south, and there beheld a number of citizens fleeing into their houses at his approach. Their fear was without reason, he had no interest in their deaths so long as they did not oppose the scourge.

Instead, he turned to where Sage Truthbearer was waiting to the east, clad in shining mail and wearing a blue cloak. In his hand was clasped a mighty warhammer, and Arthas realized he was waiting for his approach. Arthas had no desire to be forced to retreat because of a Paladin a second time and called forth from the fortress the totality of his forces. They came, marching on dead feet across the flagstone, inspiring terror in their wake, though they met and sought no resistance. Now, at last, he had at his disposal a mighty army, whose size filled the alleyways and squares of the town.

Only _then_ did he approach Sage Truthbearer, riding forth on Invincible. There Sage Truthbearer looked at him with a reserved judgment. 'Light have mercy on you. Your betrayal has broken Uther's heart, boy. He would have given his life for yours in a second, and this is how you repay his loyalty?!'

Whatever emotions he might have felt at such a speech before simply did not come to him now. 'With my Father dead, the crown is mine.' he simply replied. 'You are in open rebellion.'

It sounded hollow, even to him, and without further conversation, he charged. Like a great wave the undead swept over the defenders, and though Sage Truthbearer fought valiantly, and inspired his men to mighty deeds while healing their wounds, the result was not in contest. Even as he struck down a group of footmen, Arthas could see that his warriors were everywhere, numerous beyond measure, while his enemies were woefully few. Some reinforcements arrived from the towns, however, they were insufficient to quell the tide, and only prolonged the inevitable.

And yet Arthas found himself seized by a doubt as the bloodshed continued. For little by little, the enemy was slaying his warriors. Already some third of them had been killed in the combat. Yet each time one of his enemies faltered, Sage Truthbearer would heal them. The battle continued without end, and Arthas began to seriously fear that he would be forced to withdraw, and raise another army. Finally, however, Sage Truthbearer fell in battle, though not by Arthas' hand, and the defense was swept away. The paladin had been overwhelmed by countless ghouls and been cut down.

For a moment Arthas breathed in with relief, before noticing that there was a tower from which the enemy was firing arrows down upon him. Directing his meat wagons, he had them destroy the tower, even as he pulled his undead away from the population mentally.

The urge to destroy and burn everything in sight was far stronger here, and he had to remind himself that victory was all but won. Hours passed during which the shelling of the tower continued until it fell into ruin, and he called all his forces together and made his way out the other side of the City. It was almost over. Only one senior paladin remained to be killed, and he stood very near at hand. He knew who it was before he laid eyes on him.

Arthas could sense him.

He rode forward and came upon the tomb of King Terenas, long ago built in advance for just such a purpose. It stood tall and grim, its marble structure built among the fallen leaves of the season. It was one of the morbid preparations which occasionally seized his Father before Arthas had killed him. Yet Uther barred the way, and stepped forward, hammer in hand.

For a moment there was utter silence between them. A silence so deep that you could hear a pin drop a mile away. At last Uther spoke, not at all sure what he himself had to say to the man who had once been like a son to him. 'Your Father ruled this land for seventy years.' he said finally, tone bitter. 'And you've ground it to dust in a matter of days.' Not entirely accurate, there were many survivors, but the land itself had been marred and many brave youths and men dreaming of adventure now lay dead on the cold earth. Food for the ghouls, by the hand of his apprentice.

'Very dramatic, Uther,' said Arthas in a deadpan tone. 'give me the Urn and I'll let your men live.' There was no question of leaving Uther alive, reflected Arthas. He was a symbol of the power of the alliance. Despite his former association with Uther, no amount of pragmatism, or justifications could convince Arthas that he could leave him to his own devices. Once he and Uther had been… close. Yet all that had changed.

'The urn holds your Fathers ashes Arthas!' shouted Uther 'What?! Were you hoping to piss on them one more time before you left his Kingdom to rot?!'

A chuckle of bitter amusement came from Arthas' throat before he could stop himself. 'I didn't know what it held.' His voice became darker. 'Nor does it matter. I'll take what I came for one way or another.'

There seemed nothing more to be said. Arthas directed his remaining forces forward at a charge, and Uther and his Knights of the Silver Hand went to meet them. The Knights of the Silver Hand were outnumbered. The Knights of the Silver hand were far from any help. The Knights of the Silver Hand were facing against the Prince of Lordaeron, who had just killed his way through many of their brethren and had fought countless battles. The Knights of the Silver Hand were led by Uther the Lightbringer.

So, to no one's great surprise, it was a massacre.

Arthas' undead broke upon their enemies like water on a rock. Some of the weakest of the Silver Hand were slain in battle, but the others hacked and slashed their way through the Undead in droves. Uther slew countless enemies, his hammer seeming to sing with the voices of angels, and all the claws of ghouls and meat wagons in the world did not seem to do more than inconvenience him. Arthas parried a sword stroke, and drove his sword through a Knight, before turning around and pulling away to survey the conflict.

He was losing. He still outnumbered his enemy and he was losing badly. Even as he realized this, the last of his warriors fell in battle before the onslaught of knights, and a sudden terror took hold of Arthas' heart. Uther was approaching him, hammer in hand, and radiating light. His expression was not filled with wrath, as Arthas' must have been when he slew Mal'ganis. There was sadness there, but it was filled with judgment. Arthas' hands were shaking, cold sweat dripped down his brow, and he turned and fled in terror, fast pursued.

He rode around the meat wagons, whose acolytes abandoned their equipment and ran from the Silver Hand, yet to late! The meat wagons were destroyed, and the knights pressed onward. The acolytes were caught and put to the sword, as Arthas rushed through the streets at a gallop. He was not thinking of regrouping, or victory, or defeat, or how this would appear to his subjects. All that mattered at the moment was getting as far away from Uther Lightbringer as possible. He had seen his soul in those eyes, and he did not like what he saw.

Such was his fear that he was not able to think of anything else until he was within sight of the Fortress. Here he slowed his approach and reached the defense line.

'Lord Arthas,' said the necromancer 'where is the army?'

'The army is destroyed.' said Arthas in disgust.

'All of them?' asked the Necromancer, shocked.

'Uther defeated us.' said Arthas, regaining a measure of control. 'However, Sage Truthbearer lies dead with the others. We will raise another army, and this time we will be victorious.'

 _'_ _A shockingly complex strategy.'_ noted the Spirit of Kel'thuzad.

'I'm going to create so many ghouls that Uther won't be able to say a prayer.' snarled Arthas.

It was only once he had made this proclamation that Arthas began to realize that things had not been quite as disastrous as he had thought. He still had his fortress, so he could easily replace the army as long as they still had corpses, and there were plenty of those from battle so far. Better yet, a number of ghouls had fallen away from the column and survived by not being present. Most important of all the meat wagon carrying Kel'thuzad's corpse had not been present for the battle with Uther. Consequently, all was not lost.

Arthas called the ghouls to him, as his acolytes set about creating new ghouls. It seemed that the acolytes had been busy retrieving corpses from the battlefield even as Arthas advanced. Consequently, the innumerable bodies retrieved were more than sufficient to summon another force, larger than the last.

The alliance, keen to press its advantage, launched another assault upon his position, however like the others it came to nothing. Ironically Arthas reflected on how they might have won the day. If they had merely locked their shields together, they might well have broken through the ziggurats by sheer weight of bodies or at least destroyed a few of them. As it was they died in droves against his defenses whenever they came, and the bodies were gathered as fuel for the undead army. Over the course of the next few days, Arthas steadily increased his numbers, continually bolstering his forces.

Finally, he felt ready for his final push and led them once more to face Uther.

The undead's path through the city was not completely unopposed. In the northern section, the enemy was content to hold their ground and guard against attacks which were not forthcoming. However, in the southern reaches, they faced a pocket of resistance which barred their path. They were badly outnumbered and had no real hope for victory from the beginning. They were swept aside beneath a horde of undead, until finally once again Arthas approached Uther Lightbringer as he guarded the Tomb of King Terenas, this time with an even greater army than before.

Uther surveyed his army with stoic detachment. 'Back again then?' He asked calmly. 'These will fall like the rest.'

'We shall see.' said Arthas.

Battle was joined once again. There was nothing more to say.

The Silver Hand was fewer in number than before, and now lacked the righteous fury which it had held. Within moments half its knights were cast down, and killed by sheer numbers. Yet Uther remained a beacon of hope, battling onward and supporting his fellows. During the fighting, Arthas noticed that several of his undead were moving to kill the horses in the stables. With surprising fury for such a minor slight, he pulled them back into the fray, rebuking them mentally.

Surrounded on all sides, and unable if not unwilling to escape, the Silver Hand died upon the field that day. Yet Uther fought on endlessly. Alone he continued to do battle, his hammer slaying endless droves of undead as Arthas watched. Arthas had no desire to face his former mentor in battle, and so was content to watch him die from afar. He had no chance of defeating Uther in a fair fight anyway. Just as planned, at last Uther grew weary, and his light began to fade. The old paladin was slashed across the chest by a ghoul, and while he flinched the rest of the ghouls tore at him until it looked as though he would be torn apart. Uther reeled backward, supporting himself on his hammer and seeming about to fall into deaths embrace.

But he refused.

His eyes glowed white with a pure flame, and his light returned with tenfold power. He raised his hammer and suddenly all around him the Knights who had before lain dead arose in new life. The ghouls recoiled in stark terror and would have fled altogether had Arthas not halted them, bolstering their course with his will. Reluctantly they turned to face the now living Silver Hand, who cheered joyously and rushed forward to meet their enemies alongside Uther. Uther himself was shrouded in light so that no weapon could harm him, and all who tried perished. Together the Silver Hand slew countless undead, driving them before them. Like a tide the undead washed against them, yet each time they receded a little further back, as more and more of them were killed!

Despite himself, Arthas felt within him a terrible jealously which he had felt before in Harthglen when Uther effortlessly destroyed the enemies who had been overwhelming him moments ago. The Silver Hand truly was amazing, and their leader Uther the greatest Paladin amongst them all. How Arthas had idolized him, how Arthas had wanted to be like him.

They were nothing alike now. Maybe they never had been.

The inevitable happened. At last, the Silver Hand once again slowed in its vengeance, and the tide of reanimated corpses once again overwhelmed them. The exhausted offensive was driven in, as men were slain by the superior numbers of the dead. This time the bodies were hewn and torn apart by cruel claws from the remaining undead, for they were taking no chances. Once more Uther stood alone and unaided against the forces of darkness. His light was once again fading, and the ghouls surrounded him and began to hack at him. Wielding his hammer with inexhaustible skill, he killed many, though he was wounded beyond what a normal man would be capable of surviving. On and on he fought, until at last Arthas became afraid that he would defeat the entire army himself. The death knight dismounted from his horse, and made his way around the fray as a line of ghouls was slain by a single stroke of Uther's hammer. With catlike tread, Arthas slipped in from behind the Paladin, even as he raised his hammer for another strike.

Frostmourne hungered.

The blade pierced through Uther's back almost of its own accord, and only once it had been driven completely in did Arthas realize the implications of what he had done. His mentor, the man who had been like a second Father to him, had been slain by his hand.

The ghouls themselves seemed shocked as if they had expected their battle with the Paladin to last forever. They dared not approach as Uther inhaled a shrill breath, and looked up at the sky, badly pained, his eyes were distant beyond measure as if gazing upon something which could not be seen. Then the Old Paladin glanced back at the Prince, gaze hardening. 'I dearly hope there is a special place in hell waiting for you Arthas.' he said.

Arthas felt a certain terror at those words but kept his cool. 'We may never know, Uther.' he said with a smile not entirely his own. 'I intend to live forever.' Then Uther Lightbringer breathed his last, and there was little doubt of his destination. Arthas did not take his soul.

Uther's body fell to the ground, and the ghouls moved forward eagerly, but Arthas raised one hand. 'Leave it be.' he snapped. 'Let those who were loyal to him entomb him as they like. I have an urn to recover.' He made his way past Uther's body, pausing only briefly to glance at it, before continuing onwards towards the Tomb. Once again he broke open the doors and found the Urn of King Terenas. Taking it up, he departed and cast the ashes into the river. Yet the winds picked up, and sent the ashes scattering west, to Kalimdor.

Arthas directed the ghouls to leave him. They obeyed without question and departed back to the Fortress. For his part, Arthas remained silent for a few long moments. He had no idea why he felt so attached to the events that had just transpired. He felt nothing for anything that had happened, yet they stuck in his mind.

The ghost of Kel'thuzad appeared before him, and Arthas looked at him for reasons he did not understand. Then green mist appeared and Arthas glanced to where Tichondrius had appeared. 'Excellent work,' said the Dreadlord 'now your journey to Quel'thalas can begin.'

 _'_ _Tell him nothing!' s_ napped Kel'thuzad _'The Dreadlords cannot be trusted! They are the Lich King's jailers! I will tell you all when I walk this world again.'_

Prince Arthas and the majority of his forces departed that realm soon enough, but the people of Lordaeron came after him, and built Uther a great tomb, and set him into it with all proper ceremonies. His companion Paladins were also buried, with great set over the place so that none might despoil their corpses. They needn't have bothered. No undead ever after dared cross into the tomb of Uther Lightbringer, from then, until the end of that Azeroth had come, and all things had concluded.

* * *

 **Authors note:**

So yeah, this is the second chapter of this fanfic, and it was annoying to write. I tried to keep true to the mission, while simultaneously making it a believable war. I played this mission on hard difficulty, so this is a rough estimation of what happened during my playthrough. I left the exact numbers involved in the conflict up to the reader's imagination because why not. You may have noticed that I greatly extended the time it took for Arthas to defeat the Paladins. This was deliberate since I feel that having every victory take a single day to be a touch optimistic. I also extended the time it took to build bases a lot, since one does not just get massive structures like in WOW up and running in minutes.

Frankly, Arthas would give Alexander the Great a run for his money in how quickly he achieved his conquests, so I'm inclined to extend things a little. More than anything, I wanted to make this into a dying moment of awesome for the Paladin Order. Yes, I know the paladins don't die out here, but two of the founding members of the Order kick the bucket, particularly Uther Lightbringer.

And yes, I'm aware that Arthas: Rise of the Lich King would have us believe that Arthas beat Uther in single combat. However Blizzard Lore has a tendency to portray death knight Arthas, and their villains in general, as unstoppable badasses whose opponents never stood a chance in the first place.

However, I find the idea that the Undead were always unstoppable to much more boring than the idea that the undead took serious losses, and were, in fact, losing until Arthas entered on their side. And yes, the Prophet technically proclaimed Lordaeron doomed, but the Prophet was wrong about a lot of things, or, as I think, evil.

Think about it, Medivh can see the future. That means that Medivh knew exactly how Jaina's city of Theramore was going to pan out. As a point of fact the only overseas colony of the Alliance which actually worked out for anyone involved, were the colonies which Arthas inadvertently founded on his rampage against Mal'ganis. You know, the ones which Medivh tried to stop from being founded. Theramore lasted a few years, and then was wiped out by the Horde, and he knew it!

So yeah, I guess what I'm trying to say is fuck Medivh. He sent Jaina and co to die, and no one called him on it.

Oh and I changed the title and description of the story to something less meta.

For those of you who didn't understand what I did, I played Digging up the Dead on Hard mode, killed the Paladins, but left their bases intact. Consequently my operation was not so much a massacre as a blitzkrieg that left the enemy leadership decimated. Without them, the Alliance villages would lose cohesion.

 **EDIT:**

Changed some stuff to make things smoother, and give Arthas a bit more personality. Added a prologue that sheds light on Uther's reaction to Vandemar. Changed the details of Ballador the Bright's death. Altered the epilogue text regarding Uther's burial. May tweak the final confrontation later.

 **DOUBLE EDIT:**

Gave Arthas a few more kills to show that he is far more badass than the average Death Knight, even if he is new to the job.

 **TRIPLE EDIT:  
** Didn't have as much to change here, as it was pretty well put together all things considered. I gotta say I kind of regret killing off Uther here, even if it did happen in canon. He really should have been the main antagonist of the Undead campaign, which really lacks a central main enemy for Arthas to fight. Even so, sparing Uther would result in massive changes very early on. Besides at this point Arthas has just succumbed to the Lich King's power, he isn't capable of shaken off his influence.


	3. Into the Realm Eternal

**Chapter Three: Into the Realm Eternal**

Though the Paladins were gone, the city where they had made their last stand lived on. As the undead passed from that land like a dark cloud, the people emerged and found that while many of their soldiers were dead, their towns and villages remained intact. They grieved bitterly for their lost warriors, and girded themselves for dark times, and began to discuss the matter. The inside of the command den had once been home to Uther Lightbringer as he commanded his Paladins, now their replacements, standing around a table, looking at a map of Lordaeron.

'We cannot stay here.' decided the Captain of the Guard, a tall thin blonde haired man. 'The undead broke through our ranks with ease, and slew the Paladins. The main force might have moved on, but there are still undead here who will assail us. We cannot deflect their assault indefinitely, and we don't have the equipment necessary to dislodge them.'

'Do not be so glum friend Wilhelm.' said a tan skinned warrior in lighter armor than most. 'You underestimate the resolve of the Alliance! Let us fall upon the enemy base while their leader is away, and tear its unholy form from existence.'

'You mean like my last few predecessors attempted?' asked the Captain coldly, remembering their heroic but futile death. 'We lack siege equipment, Shear. The enemy has a fortress now, and even if we broke it by sheer weight of bodies the Death Knight who leads may return and finish us.' All they knew about the Death Knight was that the Paladins had known him. No one had told them his name, yet the vivid descriptions of his betrayal by the Paladins the Captain could only assume he had been someone of high regard.

Whoever he was, the Death Knight had gone out of his way to avoid destroying the core population centers of the City. He had killed the Paladins, and all who opposed him, yet never went the extra mile that the enemies of Lordaeron had thus far been known for.f

'You would have us abandon our home?' asked his second in command, a dark-haired woman, clad in black leather armor with undue casual nature, given the grim scene. 'I never thought I'd hear you suggest that. Its almost cheering, for I never liked the place.'

'You would say that Sapra.' noted the Captain in irritation. 'Whatever the case, we are defeated. The Undead are on the rise. We are a prime target. If we draft every man and strong lad able to bear arms, we should be able to make our way through to set up a second line of defense at Strahnbrad. There we can get shelter, and more importantly, distance from the scourge.'

'And who says they even have room for us?' Sapra asked 'Not all are quite so charitable as you would like to believe.'

'They have room.' said Wilhelm darkly. 'I know because I fought there to deflect an orcish raid under Prince Arthas, wherever the hell he is. Many of them were slaughtered, and many more were taken away to be sacrificed to the Orcs Demon Masters. They have room, and given how small their pool of men at arms was before, we will be welcome there.'

The people of the city departed those lands soon and soon found that a mass exodus of sorts had taken place in the surrounding lands as well. Many of them had become plagued, so farmers were often unable to make their crops, and the added danger of undead had convinced many to depart. Others, once they realized their neighbors would be leaving, left as well. A mass strategic withdrawal began to the south, with only the hardiest of people remaining to defend the green sections of Anderhol.

During this time, Wilhelm met a Knight from Vandemar, going by the name of Sir Malory. Malory told him of an undead blitzkrieg which claimed only the lives of five bandits. 'Of course, at the time I didn't know it,' Malory said 'I saw the Death Knight, and thought he must have killed everyone south of here. He slew a bandit leader as we were fighting him, and after the militia finished off the bandits, I pursued him into the woods. It was quite a chase, and I nearly had him at several points. Then my horse slipped on a loose stone and fell, and he escaped. My horse was fine, of course, after a bit.'

'I grieve that you were not able to slay him.' said Wilhelm ruefully. 'For Uther Lightbringer now lies dead by his hand.'

'That is grave news indeed.' said the Knight, face becoming somber. 'What will you do now?'

"We're heading south to Strahnbrad.' said Wilhelm. 'We hope to set up a second line of defense there. Why don't you come with us? We could use a good sword like yours?'

'I would,' said the Knight 'however my charge is my people, and they mean to ride out the storm. I cannot abandon them. In truth, I was taking a grave risk by coming out this far to assist the Lord Uther in battle. Now that he's dead…'

'Nothing will ever be the same,' agreed Wilhelm somberly. 'farewell and good luck.'

'To you as well.' said the Knight, and they parted ways.

As they marched endlessly south, Sapra came in with a report. 'The undead scourge has changed tactics.' she said bluntly, seeming almost annoyed. 'Under the Demon Mal'ganis they went out of their way to butcher everyone, combatant and noncombatant alike. Yet here we are, still breathing. And it's not just us, the Death Knight has reformed his forces to follow new directives.

He's really quite restrained you know. I'm actually insulted.' Mal'ganis was just a name they had to apply to the scourge's leadership. They didn't actually **know** anything about him.

'I'm just grateful I'm still alive.' replied Wilhelm bluntly. 'And if I never see the death knight again, so much the better.' Then he broke off the conversation, to help an old man who was having trouble in the long march. The retreat was largely unmolested, for that was what it was, a retreat. Yet spirits were low, and many people grumbled and pined for better days.

Captain Wilhelm and his forces arrived in Strahnbrad to find that the place was being terrorized by a group of bandits known as the syndicate. Furious at the outlaws, he and his footmen went to Strahnbrad's aid and wiped them out to the last man. They then set up defenses and began rebuilding the town into a mighty Fortress, hailed as heroes by the populace, who gladly accommodated the new population. Together they forged a new land, and to their great fortune, the rest of the war passed without seeing any more undead.

Without a ruling government to give his loyalty to, Wilhelm gave in to his people and forged Strahnbrad into a Kingdom. The Kingdom of Strahnbrad in the coming years became prosperous one, and a beacon of hope in the dark times to come. Contact was kept up with Vandemar, which did not fare quite as well, but nevertheless survived and eventually prospered as trade opened up between the two realms. Strahnbrad soon became a base from which a number of successful campaigns in the northlands were waged and many lives saved. After many battles, Wilhelm and his forces sought membership within the alliance, which accepted gladly.

* * *

Not that Tichondrius _knew_ any of this was going to come to pass as he watched the refugees in full retreat from their remaining strong points. As far as he knew, and expected, the refugees would starve to death or be cut down by the scourge. At most, they would last long enough to die by Lord Archimond's hand. He lacked the power of foresight, and in any case, fully expected the world to be ending in a few years at most. He was, at heart, a pessimist, and had he know the results of small mercies he might well have taken action.

As it was Tichondrius had become resigned to this inappropriate form of mercy, and vowed to remedy the situation as soon as the scourge passed into his own more ruthless hands. Even now he made his way through the hellscape of the Black Citadel. A rat was crushed beneath his boot, yet he paid it no heed. Halting, he raised his hands and began a summoning. After a moment, two senior Dreadlords, nearly his equals, appeared before him. The first was clad all in orange, the second all in blue.

'Is everything proceeding as planned Tichondrius?' asked Anetheron 'Lord Archimond demands a report on the Scourge?'

'The Lich King's young Death Knight has been performing efficiently,' said Tichondrius 'almost too efficiently. I begin to wonder if Ner'zhul has anterior motives for his new… champion.' That the human might be acting of his own volition did not enter Tichondrius' darkest dreams.

'The human means nothing in the long run.' said Mephistroth with disdain. 'Ner'zhul wouldn't dare undermine our efforts now.'

'Our only concern is that the Scourge accomplishes what it was created to do.' said Anetheron 'Archimond will have all our heads if we do not keep control of this situation!'

'Believe me, brother.' said Tichondrius 'Neither the Lich King, nor his undead lackeys will jeopardize the Legions return.'

'See that they do not,' said Anetheron 'Lord Archimond has little patience for failure.'

With that, the Dreadlords broke away from each other and made their way to other sections of the Black Citadel. Tichondrius remains behind and stares into your soul.

* * *

It was impossible to imagine ending the world on such a bright summer day. The sun was shining in the sky. Rolling hills flanked a crystal clear river. Endless waves of beauteous trees swayed out before him on both banks of the water. It had always been like this, since the elves came to this realm, and took it from the forest trolls with help from humanity. And no doubt some believed it always would be. Arthas was here to prove them wrong.

He decided to say a few words to mark the occasion. 'Ah, wondrous eternal, Quel'thalas,' he said, a hint of mocking wonder in his tone, as he recalled the last time he was here. 'I haven't been here since I was a boy.'

During the endless carnage of the second war, when King Terenas had become concerned that Lordaeron itself might come under assault, he had sent his only son to Quel'thalas as a political exchange. Prince Kael'thas had gone to Lordaeron and assisted in the war there. Though he had been in awe of the place when he first entered it, never in Arthas' life had he been made to feel more unwelcome. There were no people his age, for Elves grew up much slower than humans, and those who were his stage of development spent their time flaunting how much better they were than him at various tasks, which they had had more time that he had been alive to perfect. All the adults treated him as an irritation at best. Frequently they would speak _about him_ in front of him _._ Not even bothering to hide the fact that they viewed him just a few steps up from an ape.

Consequently, he had drawn his own opinion of the Elves from their courts' treatment of him. They were an entire society of insufferably smug jerks. He hadn't been in Quel'thalas a week, and he'd badly wanted to go home. Yet he'd been terrified that home would be destroyed by the orcs and that he would have to _grow up in Quel'thalas._ He suppressed a shudder at the concept, though the threat of it was long past.

Though he never admitted it to anyone, he'd secretly had a certain amount of satisfaction out of watching the elves find out the orcs were taking their forest apart piece by piece. The most interesting thing to happen was when Sylvanas {or had it been Alleria} Windrunner entered the royal court and hurled an orc head on the ground. The ensuing outrage about the fact that the orcs were invading was actually the closest they had ever been to sympathetic.

Where was Arthas? Oh right, he had taken his forces north through the Greenwood pass and meant to succeed where the Orcs had failed. Even now his forces had arrayed themselves beneath the hill on which he stood, and he looked back to them, then to the river again, contemplating matters.

 _'_ _Be wary, Death Knight.'_ said Kel'thuzad's spirit. _'The elves likely wait in ambush.'_

'The frail Elves do not concern me, Necromancer.' said Arthas harshly. 'Our forces are strengthened with every foe we slay.' And he turned to make his way back down the hill, towards his forces.

 _'_ _Don't be too overconfident, Death Knight.'_ said Kel'thuzad _'These elves must not be taken lightly.'_

'We shall see.' replied Arthas 'Bring forth the Prisoner!'

The Necromancers shouldered forward an elven man, Dar'khan Drathir, who had approached the force, while they were traveling through the Greenwood pass. He was tall, even for an elf, with long dark hair and handsome features as was usual for his race. Dar'khan had been one of the few people in the Elven Lands whom Arthas had met whom he actually liked. This was because Dar'khan had an extremely low opinion of his fellow elves unless things had changed greatly. He had been instrumental in using the Sunwell's energies to build the defenses of Quel'thalas which now barred their path. Yet because he was of common blood, with little to no noble ancestry, the court of the elves had snubbed him, and largely accidentally on purpose forgot his contributions. Arthas had assumed that he was here to betray his countrymen, however, he seemed to be having second thoughts now that he saw the army. For Dar'khan looked at him defiantly, as Arthas approached. 'Where is the entrance to your land, Dar'khan?' Arthas asked him simply.

'You will never enter Quel'thalas, fallen Prince.' said Dar'khan proudly. 'The woods themselves defend our lands, and the enchanted Elf Gates protect our capital.' Ah, so that was it. Dar'khan had always had been somewhat egotistical, so it was all too likely that he had come here simply to boast of his defenses. It was probably the only reception he'd ever get for all his efforts.

'Your precious gates will not stop me any more than these trees, Dar'khan.' said Arthas as he turned to his forces who even now awaited his word. 'Raze the trees. We'll make our own entrance.'

'What would you have done with him, Great Lord?' asked the Necromancer.

'Let him go.' said Arthas 'He may prove useful later.' With any luck, with his ego satisfied, and the first of his defenses circumvented, Dar'khan would have only seething spite for his fellow elves left to drive him. That's what Arthas was counting on.

The undead descended with dark glee upon the trees barring all passage, and tore them down, scraping the beautiful trees to splinters, and tearing off branches. The work took quite some time, for some power seemed to set itself against them, slowing their progress. After endless hours of toil, they broke through, and Arthas saw beyond an elvish hamlet. Only a small troupe of archers was there to guard the place, and they did not rush to battle.

 _'_ _The energies of this place are strong.'_ said Kel'thuzad _'Kill the Elves, level their structures! This location is perfect for your base.'_

'It'll be a pleasure.' said Arthas with a slight smile.  
The Undead charged forward against the Elves in a great tide. The archers stood their ground and fired many arrows, some of which hit their mark. Several Ghouls fell and did not rise again. Arthas approached them, sword in hand.

'The undead are advancing!' said the female Captain of the Elves. 'Alert the sentries!'

A single elf fled from the formation, as the ghouls descended and overwhelmed it. The elves were fleeing in a great tide, as the undead turned their attention to the town hall. The meat wagons sent volley after volley of stones and bodies to slam against its walls, as the ghouls tore at it with unholy strength. Arthas lit a torch and set it to the roof, and it caught fire in a blaze. After a few minutes of prolonged effort, the hall fell into utter ruin. However Arthas, for reasons even he did not understand, did not heed the Ghosts advice. Instead, he looked to his forces. 'Pull back to the Greenwood Pass. We'll establish a Necropolis there, and set up a line of defense.'

 _'_ _Second thoughts, Death Knight?'_ asked Kel'thuzad, amusement in his tone.

'Pragmatism,' Replied Arthas 'there are three passes that lead into the place where the Hamlet was located. Putting our base a bit farther back leaves only one location for the enemy to advance upon.'

 _'_ _You must do as you feel is tactically correct.'_ said Kel'thuzad, in a tone of sarcasm.

At that moment the sound of several stones being launched was heard, and Arthas noted that some of the meat wagons were launching projectiles at the Elven Farmsteads. 'You men pull back.' He snarled 'Let them stand.'

'But Lord Arthas-' began the Acolyte.

'Do as I command.' He snapped 'And if you cannot control your impulses, move your detachment to the back of the line.' It seemed as if every time he turned his attention to other things, the meat wagons began attacking civilian structures. He wasn't even sure why he cared, those who had dwelt here had fled long ago.

The building of the fortress took some time, and it was far less secure than Arthas would have liked. For one thing, the energies which the Acolytes meant to harness to create additional undead were situated beyond the Greenwood pass. As a result, he was forced to set up his defenses far more thinly than he would have liked. Over the course of the next week or so the great buildings arose gradually, and no sign of the Elves could be seen. This concerned Arthas, for it, indicated to him that they were not nearly so prepared for invasion as the Paladins had been.

Perhaps the elves had thought themselves unassailable, or perhaps they were merely taken off guard by the speed with which he had broken through their defenses. Whatever the case, as the structures arose, and blighted ground gradually replaced healthy grass and turf, Arthas began to explore his surroundings. At first, he went directly south, making his way over a river and finding his path blocked by heavy trees and undergrowth. Once again, some force seemed to set itself against him, and he dared not tarry long. He headed north once again and chose the eastern path next.

Even as he moved to do so, however, an arrow shot through the air and lodged itself in a nearby tree. He wheeled round his horse and saw a troop of High Elven Swordsmen. At their head stood a stunningly beautiful elf maiden. Her hair was flowing blonde, and she was clad in brown leather that clung to her voluptuous form. Her features seemed to Arthas vaguely familiar, as her blue cloak flowed in the winds around her and he noticed the flag of parley standing over her.

He rode forward and halted before them, mentally restraining his ghouls from attacking.

'You are not welcome here.' said the elf proudly. 'I am Sylvanas Windrunner. Ranger General of Silvermoon, I'd advise you to run back, now.'

Now he recalled her. He had seen her briefly during his stay in Quel'thalas and had a number of dreams regarding her. 'It is you who should turn back, Sylvanas.' said Arthas coldly. 'Death itself has come to your land.'

She laughed scornfully, in a manner almost alluring. 'Do your worst, the Elfgate to the Inner Kingdom is guarded by our most powerful enchantments. You shall not pass.'

Then without another word, she and her elves turned and retreated. Arthas considered hunting them down and destroying them. However they were under the protection of parley, and one did not kill messengers or even enemy commanders when a flag of truce was under effect. What did he look like? An Orc?

With the elves gone, Arthas turned and continued his exploration, yet though he tried to forget it, he could not quite forget the beauty of Sylvanas. It was not as he felt when thinking of Jaina, there was no tenderness here. It was simple lust, that was all. He had no time for this. He crossed the river east and came once again to a line of trees. Turning around, he rode back and tried the southern path. Predictably enough, it also led to trees.

Apparently, he would have to make several entrances. Unlike Lordaeron, Arthas was not overly familiar with the territory of Quel'thalas, and so he would have to choose a path at random. On a whim, he chose the southern reaches of trees and called upon his ghouls to follow him onwards to the south. They crossed the river, the ghouls bounding through the currents without complaint, and began to hack at the trees. Arthas marveled at how the very touch of the ghouls turned the trees they were harvesting from black with unholy energies. One by one the trees fell until at last the ghouls had taken all they could carry and brought their loads back to the camp. Arthas waited there for them until they returned and finished hacking through the trees. As soon as they pierced the trees, Arthas sent them back to the fortress and began to explore beyond.

He headed south through the trees, and then turned sharply east, making his way along the trees, until he came to a bit where they thinned. Curious, he rode forward and was immediately greeted with the sound of bows twanging. Arrows flew after him, and he fled from the enemy as a glaive from a ballista shot over his head, nearly beheading him. He made his way north across a bridge.

Unfortunately for Arthas, his adventure did not end here. For though he had escaped the arrows of the rangers, his face was apparently easily recognized. He came across an elven hamlet. Yet unlike the last one, this one was heavily defended. Many warriors stood with swords readied, and archers held a position around him. Towers tipped with magical light were there, and as soon as he came within range of them they launched bolts which stung and burned his flesh.

A high elven woman saw him and fled. 'It is the traitorous human Prince! Run for your lives!'

Arthas could have death coiled her. Unfortunately, he was rather distracted dodging the arrows of his enemies. He raced through the village, and each time he thought he had escaped he found himself faced with another force of soldiers. The elven buildings were altogether different from how the Alliance built their structures. In Lordaeron the buildings were simple and matter of fact, but the elves felt the need to make everything ornate. Even the farmsteads were elegantly built. He saw now why the Arcane Sanctums of Lordaeron seemed so out of place when compared to other Human Buildings. They were the same as those in Quel'thalas.

 _'_ _Was there a plan here, Death Knight?'_ asked Kel'thuzad with amusement despite the dire situation.

Arthas did not respond, fleeing ever further north. Yet even as he escaped the bounds of the village, he ran straight into a contingent of archers. Their bows sang as he raced past them over the bridge that presented itself. An arrow raced out of nowhere and caught him in the pack, but he kept in the saddle and rushed away.

Into yet another heavily armed elven village.

 _'_ _Our circumstances have not improved.'_ noted Kel'thuzad.

Finally, he escaped from that hamlet, his pursuers lost behind him, and ran straight into a wall of trees. The very woods themselves conspired to keep him trapped. Fortunately, he had a solution. For he recognized this place from when he had peered through the woods. He was near the eastern wall of trees. Mentally he made contact with the Acolytes manning the meat wagons.

 _'_ _Your will, my Lord.'_

'Take the eastern path,' said Arthas 'and use your meat wagons to clear the trees you find at the end. I'll be waiting on the other side.'

 _'_ _Thy will be done.'_

Then nothing, for he had no way to check on his acolytes' progress. Arthas used the lull to reach back, and somewhat painfully remove the arrow from his back. He glanced nervously on the path behind him. If the high elves realized he was trapped here, they might well come in force and cut him to pieces before the acolytes could make way for him. He felt a certain degree of fear about that, for he did not want to die.

His burns from the towers shots were healing slowly, yet he doubted even at full health that he could take a whole contingent on his own. Although he was stronger than he had been a few weeks ago, he was not yet ready to face an army.

Finally, the sound of launching stones was heard, and one of the trees was uprooted and broken down beneath an endless volley of stones and bodies. He slipped through the gap and saw the acolytes. 'That's enough,' he said 'let us return to camp. We have much work to do.'

The return to camp was uneventful. However, the arrival itself was notable, for he found the bodies of many elves waiting on the ground for his return. It seemed that Sylvanas had launched an assault upon his forces, and had it repulsed while he was absent. Arthas took some satisfaction that his forces were capable of taking care of themselves, and chided himself for going off on his own.

'Well done my warriors.' he said to them. 'Now we must make preparations for our assault. Gather the ghouls and necromancers, we strike south as soon as all the preparations have been made.'

It took another day for the full force of the Scourge to be mustered, and Arthas led them south, through the trees and into an elven hamlet. There they met a truly massive force of archers, who stood upon a hill with many sorcerers, who slowed his warriors even as the high elven swordsmen advanced beneath flurries of arrows. Behind them stood a high elven guard tower. Many undead fell in the first wave, but Arthas pulled his forces back to the trees, drawing them into the woods to break up their formation.  
Then the battle began in earnest. Elves cut down ghouls, as ghouls raked their claws against infantry. An arrow pierced a necromancers throat, as Arthas slew an archer with a death coil. The high elves fought well. They fought extremely well. Within minutes most of the ghouls Arthas had brought with him were dead. Yet he was not out of the fight, for the necromancers muttered incantations, casting infernal magics which saw the skeletons of the fallen shed all flesh and rise again to do battle against his enemies. As the conflict waged, the skeletal constructs soon numbered beyond count. They pressed forward at Arthas' urging, slaying the last of the high elven swordsman, and wiping away the archers in an onslaught without halt.

The meat wagons fired endless barrages, tearing down the fragile towers of the high elves. The villages barracks were burned to the ground. Their town hall was set aflame, and desperate elven peasants worked to extinguish its fires as the Undead broke apart the Arcane Sanctum stone by stone.

Throughout the combat, Arthas had to endlessly restrain his forces from assaulting the homes of the high elves and killing noncombatants. The many casualties they had suffered seemed to incense the undead so that they desired to rend maim and tear. Yet Arthas forbade it, and they obeyed his will. Yet he became increasingly aware that the scourge as an entity did not like being restrained. The town hall was destroyed, and the blacksmith laid to waste, and Arthas had to struggle against himself to prevent the undead from going further. Frostmourne hungered and seemed determined to reap lives. Yet the villagers' homes were allowed to remain standing, and those within them were allowed to live.

Even as he was satisfied that his victory over the hamlet was achieved, however, Sylvanas Windrunner arrived too late with reinforcements. However she took his forces off guard when they were at their weakest, and before Arthas could rally his forces to defend against her assault, she had destroyed his meat wagons and killed the cultists manning them. Their forces met in battle once again, and as before, his necromancers proved their value by raising the fallen bodies of enemy and friend alike to fight against the elves. Many undead warriors fell in battle pierced with the arrows of Sylvanas Windrunner, as many high elves were slain against the might of Arthas.

It was a bloody engagement, with many on both sides falling. Yet in the end, Sylvanas called a retreat, and her forces withdrew before the onslaught of the scourge. Thus Arthas was once again was without an enemy. He contained his disappointment and returned to the task at hand.

Finally, the village belonged to them, though its citizens were doubtful to be of much use. Arthas called forth additional acolytes from behind the lines to begin construction of a new bastion here. Ziggurats were raised as a defensive shield, as Cultists began to haunt the nearby goldmine. A crypt was erected, and also a Temple of the Damned. The work took days, and it was during this occurrence that Arthas received news that Greenwood pass had been largely cleared of trees and that some of his forces had gone out of control and destroyed a high elven house.

Annoyed at having his orders disobeyed, Arthas sent word that those responsible were to be executed as an example, then directed the ghouls to turn their attention to farther afield areas. Then he returned to planning his assault. He could not do that when he had no idea where his enemies were. To this end he made his way east, alone, scouring the surroundings lands for any sign of his enemies. He found a dusty and out of place area beyond the cliffs, and saw the fountain brimming with magic. However, it was guarded by many rock golems.

He made his way past them, and through the ravine until he came to an elven hamlet. Here a single tower stood ready, along with a number of archers. A force of swordsmen patrolled the road below, and he rode away with that in mind. Even as he reached his base, however, Sylvanas' armies appeared as if from nowhere, with siege equipment. An arrow struck Arthas in the leg, and he felt a deathly cold go through him. He and Invincible made their way behind the defensive line as his ghouls and necromancers rallied to his call. Soon the battle was in full swing, and Arthas pulled out the arrow, before rushing to the aid of his comrades. One of the ziggurats fell into ruins before the onslaught of glaives, as the Ghouls fell in battle, killing and being killed without mercy on either side. Once again the Necromancers raised many corpses as skeletons to overrun the enemy position, yet the elven archers enacted a heavy toll for their dead. Many necromancers were killed in an endless volley of arrows.

'Pull back you men!' snapped Arthas to them as he cut down an archer. 'Move beyond range!'

The necromancers obeyed, fewer in number than before.

In the end, the battle exacted a heavy toll on the undead, but it was a victory nonetheless. The high elves were repulsed and retreated over the river. Despite this, Arthas realized he would have to reconstruct much of his force from the ground up. This annoyed him greatly. A human commander would have been defeated a dozen times by now. He rallied his armies, replacing those he had lost as he made his way east, towards the river. The flowing water was low at this time of year, and so they had no difficulty crossing it. Finally, they came upon a great host of elves.

A sense of dark joy came to Arthas as he stood at the front of his armies. 'Finally, we've reached the Elfgate!' proclaimed Arthas 'Press the attack! Let none survive!'

The scourge rushed forward out of the river, meeting the high elven lines head-on. Elf and undead alike died in droves in a battle over the control of the elf gate. Arthas hacked down an elven swordsman, before deflecting an arrow with his sword. He saw Sylvanas with the archers and redoubled his efforts to reach her through the tide of conflict, as his necromancers summoned innumerable skeletons for the onslaught which continued without relent.

Many elves who otherwise might have lived full and happy lives lay dead on the ground soon, taking with them countless undead. And yet, though it defied comprehension, the elves were winning. Though their forces gave way, the undead were too few in number, and elvish militia rallied to finish what their professional counterparts started. Soon Arthas' forces were dead all around him, and the Elves were mustering for a second assault. Reinforcements arrived, but they were too little too late, and most of his necromancers were dead in battle!

Foiled, Arthas pulled his forces back, vowing to himself that it would not end like this. Yet the Elves did not give him time to recover. Even as he began to restore his forces, they launched an assault against him. Again and again, they charged forward, assailing his defenses and slaying many of his defenders with each attack. Despite himself, Arthas could not help but admire the fury which Sylvanas inspired in her subordinates.

And yet as things continued onward he began to feel more than a little concerned. For contrary to what some believed, the number of corpses the land possessed was not infinite. Many of them were unusable anyway, and unless Arthas could score a swift victory here, the battle might turn into a brutal stalemate which chewed through both armies. In the time that took the Alliance might arrive with a relief force, and then matters would be completely out of hand.

He resolved to bring down the elves by sheer weight of numbers, in one swift stroke. However, first he had other concerns, for in their fury at their failure, the undead had begun to enact reprisals against the elvish citizens. Already a farm had been burned down, and those within were being pursued by the ghouls. A man, a woman and a child from the looks of things. The child tripped, and the woman and man kneeled to pick her up, and then the ghouls were upon them! Time seemed to slow down. Arthas felt a sudden desperation overtake, as flashes of orcs tearing their way through Strahbrad came to his mind unbidden.

'Get away from them!' he snarled feral as he rushed forward. 'Leave them be!' He motioned with Frostmourne, and the ghouls cowered in terror.

He looked down at the elven family, who stood perfectly still in absolute terror. Frostmourne hungered to feast on their souls, and the whispers spoke of violence. Arthas was not sure what he had been expecting, for thanks was out of the question. 'Remove yourselves from the path of my army. There is a village to the northeast of here, that I have left untouched. Go.'

They fled without a word. Arthas turned away in a foul mood, and with a fury pulled his forces away from the homesteads to prevent any further incidents, before focusing on more important matters.

He spent a full week preparing his forces, and in that time had to fend off several more assaults by the elves, some of them personally led by Sylvanas. Each time he sought to slay her, he failed, for she slipped away with her rangers while causing him many casualties. Even so, he amassed larger and larger forces of ghouls, summoning to him all the undead in the surrounding realms in an endless parade of bodies that was dwarfed only by the force he had sent against Lord Uther in what seemed so long ago. Memories of his old battles played through his mind during this time, giving him no peace.

On and on it went, until at last, he silenced the memories with the knowledge that he had a force of ghouls which stretched into the distance before him. Summoning them to him, he led them in a full charge through the waters, the Necromancers advancing behind as they descended once more upon the elven defenses. Once again the high elves rushed to meet them, led by Sylvanas and once again the two forces met it a titanic collision. Elvish sorceresses slowed his ghouls even as they approached, while archers fired from a hill, launching countless arrows into them, slaying many. Sylvanas with them calling encouragements and adding her own bow to the battle. A force of high elven swordsmen stood at the base of the hill, fighting off any who dared attempt an approach. Behind the lines patrolled the Priests of the Holy Light and whenever a warrior was wounded in battle, they would withdraw, their comrades would close ranks behind them, and the would be healed before rejoining the fray.

Yet the ground shook beneath the footfalls of Arthas' mustering hosts. The air was filled with cries of despair from those who saw its onset, as legion after innumerable legion broke against the high elven ranks and reformed to attack. Sylvanas stood atop a hill, rallying her forces to her banner as the battle raged without relent. The elves were smashed, reformed further back, and fought on for a time before being then smashed again. Meat wagons tore down their elegant towers, as little by little Sylvanas Windrunner lost control of the situation.

Finally, the Elf Gate itself which the Elves had been defending was cast down and broken. Sylvanas mustered what remained of her forces through the and paused at the rear of the line to gaze upon her encroaching enemies in fear. 'Fall back to the second gate!' she cried 'Fall back!'

'The elf gate has fallen!' proclaimed Arthas in triumph as he flourished with Frostmourne. 'Onward my warriors! Onward to victory!'

With dark joy the Scourge rushed forward through the shattered gates, snarling and roaring their approval. The army pressed onwards all at once, into the realm eternal. The battle was over, they were victorious! In their advance, they had suffered more than three times as many casualties as the Elves, yet they would not allow that to halt them. All would serve the Lich King!

* * *

For his part, Tichondrius observed the two intact villages with who had been spared were fleeing for shelter within them, and their numbers were being bolstered by emergency recruitment strategies. The bulk of the Undead had moved on, and would no longer be available to destroy these strongpoints. Instead, the best that could be managed was to keep the path of escape open for the scourge so that when the Sunwell was no more they could withdraw.

For all his enthusiasm, the Dreadlord Tichondrius began to suspect for the first time that Arthas wasn't quite as soulless as he would have liked to believe. 'No matter, we all have our parts to play, and the human is but a pawn of Ner'zhul.'

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

Well, that's done. I must admit that I was all too fascinated by a particular line of Arthas' where he indicates that he went to Quel'thalas as a child. Which is unfortunate, since it seems to have been completely retconned. Arthas took far too much enjoyment out of burning down the elven lands to have been entirely professional in his motives.

Consequently, since Arthas' childhood was during the second war, I'm going to say that the Azerothian version of world war II did not, in fact, take place over the course of two years. Rather when the Orcs began to make headway, King Terenas sent his son to Quel'thalas for safety, and Arthas, a very social person, ended up being snubbed.

This perfectly coincides with Dar'khan Drathir, because how exactly Arthas recruited that guy is one of the biggest mysteries of the series. Quel'thalas is extremely reclusive, letting no one in or out. Dar'khan indicates that Arthas approached _him_ , however, which makes no sense. How could Arthas, whose only involvement in Quel'thalas was invading it, possibly know to speak to Dar'khan as the weak link in the Quel'thalas magicians? If Dar'khan was approached by the Lich King, which I could buy, he wouldn't have such an attachment to 'Lord Arthas.' He would simply view him as just another superior officer. Yet Dar'khan demonstrates an attachment to Arthas bordering on morality pet levels, even planning to spare him as he plans to overthrow him.

So my assumption is that Arthas had met Dar'khan at some point in the past, probably during his time in Quel'thalas, and figured that he might well decide to betray his people.

That said, there is no way in heaven or hell that Dar'khan Drathir could beat Sylvanas Windrunner in a fight. The Sunwell Trilogy should have ended the moment Sylvanas showed up.

Oh, and once again this was inspired by an actual play through. It's much more difficult to win this mission without destroying any civilian buildings since the places you expand into are almost universally surrounded by the things. It also adds an element of difficulty to the game, since most players will have to destroy the southern Village in order to advance on Sylvanas' base, or at least badly damage it to take it out of the fight. Even if you succeed in bypassing it though, the chances are that you will run out of money before you can destroy Sylvanas' base.

Sorry if some of the action sequences blur together, or are skimmed over. I got really sick of writing them, to be honest. There are only so many ways you can describe a mass battle before it gets boring.

Interesting fact, by the way, my first experience with Warcraft was the Warcraft Manga, given to me by my sister. It got me hooked on the story. Ironically enough, I have come to despise the main protagonist of the Sunwell Trilogy, Kalecgos. He served no real purpose in the Sunwell Trilogy other than to be a love interest to Anveena, and now he serves no purpose but to be an arbitrary love interest to Jaina. Which is bullshit, because Jaina should have either fallen in love with Thrall or remained single. Although I favor ArthasxJaina, I have no problem with the ThrallxJaina ship.

Who I have a problem with is Kalecgos. AKA, the worst character ever. I hate him worse than Med'an. He has literally no personality, and everything he did could have been done by Tyragosa or Jorad Mace. Both of whom are far more interesting characters who got the shaft. I also think they completely wasted Anveena's potential as a character by dropping a bridge on her, and to add insult to injury they ruined Kael'thas, my favorite High Elven character in the process.

 **EDIT:**

Made a bunch of minor alterations to the text. Nothing too major though.


	4. The Key of Three Moons

**Chapter Four: The Key of Three Moons**

Within a small elven hamlet, the local militia mustered themselves for a final defense. The undead were marching onwards in great numbers, and the Rangers had been unable to stop them. Within her house, young Liadrara clung to her mother. There were whispers echoing through the woodlands, and a dark magic was closing in on them. The sound of countless marching feet was heard. Her brother was out there, sword in hand, waiting with shaking grip for the creatures.

'Mommy,' said Liadrara 'when will the undead go away?'

'Close your eyes Liadrara,' said mother, face pale. 'just close them and wait. The... the undead may leave us be if we pray.'

Liadrara obeyed, closing her eyes and wishing with all her heart and soul that the monsters would go away. Whether by fate or luck, her prayers were answered. The undead marched onwards constantly near them, but either they never found the village, or they did not view it as worth their effort.

Everyone lived.

* * *

The Rangers had fought well. The Rangers had fought extremely well. They had killed three undead for every one of their forces to fall, at the least. Yet the Scourge had pressed on endlessly, unstoppable in its invasion of Quel'thalas. All Sylvanas could do was hope that the undead would not turn upon the villages they had not yet destroyed once they were halted.

If they were halted.

The Ranger General sped with the last of all her forces through the second Elf Gate, mere moments before it shut entirely. It clanged closed, and she made her way to where a number of archers were waiting there for her. Yet they were far too few. Lorthemar stood ready with the reserve forces, wearing not helm so that his white hair was visible. 'Lorthemar, where are the reserve forces we posted here?'

'They're gone.' said Lorthemar 'The villagers north of here say Dar'khan Drathir ordered them to pull back to protect the northern town from forest trolls. Then he moved off to the east. What could he be thinking?' Sylvanas had no idea what was going on, but a dark suspicion began to grow in her mind. Dar'khan surviving his suicidal attempt to taunt the Death Knight in itself was more than suspicious. Yet there was no time to do anything about it now, and Lorthemar and he were close. Suddenly the sound of banging was suddenly heard on the other side of the gate, and Lorthemar flinched. 'My Lady, what are your orders?'

'Without the reserve forces we can't stop them here.' said Sylvanas 'Pull back across the bridge. I'll be right behind you.'

'As you say,' said Lorthemar, before turning to the soldiers. 'over the bridge, quickly.'

The sound of hacking and slashing was heard on the other side of the gate, which shook and vibrated beneath the blows of some unseen force. Sylvanas turned and notched an arrow to her bow as several archers remained behind. Elvish peasants began working to set a barricade against the gate to help keep the undead out. Then the gates snapped and shattered to pieces, and over the wreckage rushed a swarm of corpses.

'Let fly!' cried Sylvanas, and she and her archers fired their bows as one. The first rank of the undead were slain, but none could strike down the Death Knight, who slew the peasants as they sought to flee. The undead descended upon the archers, and Sylvanas and her forces turned to retreat. Not all of them made it, and the rest mourned their losses bitterly as they made their way across the bridge.

Sylvanas turned mid-step and faced Arthas down as he stood at the head of the army. 'Fall back to the trees!' She called to her forces behind her, before standing at the bridge to face Arthas. The Prince rode forward to the edge of the bridge, his and cloak flowing about him like some terrible lord rendering judgment.

* * *

The elf woman held her ground against Arthas as he halted across the bridge from her. The wind was howling between them, and an arrow was set to her bow, ready to fire. Behind her, Arthas saw her forces reforming, yet he did not press forward just yet. He allowed them time to disperse into various villages and begin manning defenses alongside the militia. He had spotted an elven hamlet some ways, back, but had chosen to ignore it, as it lacked the strength to stand against him. There was a militia, but they were mostly content to stand their ground and watch. He would deal with them all in due time. And in his own way.

He had to admit he had been enjoying himself immensely. Defeating the forces of Quel'thalas had been immensely satisfying.

Finally, Sylvanas spoke. 'You've won through this gate, traitor, but you won't get through the next one. The inner gate to Silvermoon can only be opened with a special key. And it shall never be yours.'

'You waste your time, woman.' replied Arthas, amused by her defiance. 'You cannot outrun the inevitable.' He spun his blade absently and began to ride slowly across the bridge, the rapids coursing beneath him as he neared the center, the ghouls pressing behind him.

'You think that I'm running from you?' asked Sylvanas as he came closer. 'Apparently, you've never fought Elves before.' Warning signals shot through Arthas as she raised her bow, and fired a gleaming arrow upwards.

There was a tremor in the air, as power surged through him. All of a sudden the bridge shook violently, as the supports began to collapse as though they were made of sand. Arthas turned his horse and fled back across the bridge, even as the bridge was consumed beneath an onslaught of water that sent it tumbling into the rapids, which coursed faster and faster.

Arthas remembered Dar'khan mentioning such an enchantment which he had weaved using the Sunwell's energies. It appeared that though the high elves were slow to reward him, they were not slow to use his inventions. Sylvanas disappeared into the trees, looking absurdly pleased with herself.

This was going to be inconvenient. Arthas had planned to cross into Quel'thalas through that path, and now those plans had been frustrated. There was no other bridge, and the river was running high and sure. There were no fords here.

He watched in irritation mixed with impotent fury as the wreckage of the bridge was washed away, leaving no trace. Even the stones it had been built from melted away in the water by some magic. His mustering forces looked rather awkward as they approached. The momentum of their assault had been halted, now he would have to fight a pitched battle for sure, and that could drag on for weeks. 'Damn that woman,' he said after a moment. 'we must find a way to cross the river.'

At that moment he sensed a presence approaching him from the path he had just taken. Riding to the back of the column, he saw a number of the spider centaur-like crypt fiends whom he had faced many of in Northrend. They scuttled across the ground on eight legs, their foreclaws moving here and there, their many eyes gazing at him.

'Greetings Death Knight,' their Leader said. 'we have come from Northrend to aid you in battle. We also bear a message from an Elf who called himself your ally.' In one claw the creature passed Arthas a letter. Unrolling it, Arthas read the message, already knowing who had sent it.

The message read:

 _'A second enchanted Elfgate blocks the path to Silvermoon City, Lord Arthas. To bypass the mighty gate, you must locate and combine the three separate Moon Crystals which, when pieced together, form the Key of Three Moons._

 _You will find each piece upon an Altar of Kings, one in a village east of here, another to the north, and a third to the northwest. Destroy the Altars, raze them to the ground, and take the Moon Crystals. Only then may the way be cleared for your assault.'_

'Your assistance is appreciated.' said Arthas, noting another Elven Hamlet out of the corner of his eyes as he rolled up the parchment and resealed it. He turned to his Cultists. 'Acolytes of the Lich King, begin construction of a new Fortress. I'm going to scout eastwards and see if I can find another path across.' He took the Nerubians and Ghouls with him, into the midsts of a scenic little Elven Village, situated near the river. The trees were all around it, shading some of the buildings. The people screamed in horror and fled into the woods.

Then there was a sound of beating wings. Over the trees came a force of elves clad in armor, and flying upon feathered birds with massive beaks and a large wingspan. The elves dove towards them, pointing lances which shot balls of energy that fell amongst the undead, slaying many in moments.

'Lord Arthas,' said a necromancer. 'our forces cannot attack the flying beasts!'

'Fear not,' said Arthas, remaining in control as he recalled some of his lessons. 'the crypt fiends can force them to the ground.' They were called dragon hawks, but he didn't bother to correct him.

As they came up to the front of the line, webbing shot from the crypt fiends and caught upon the dragonhawk's wings and feathers, sending them hurtling to the ground. The ghouls were upon them in moments and tore the riders and the beasts upon which they rode to shreds in retribution for their fallen. Arthas watched it occur, before motioning to his soldiers to continue onwards. Beyond the trees, he could see the beginnings of a Necropolis taking form. They made their way out of the village, onto a northeastern peninsula. In the air above Arthas could see a fleet of zeppelins waiting for something above him, hovering over a building, a workshop of some kind. It was large enough to house an entire community if the community were of one of the smaller races.

When he came by, he saw a massively overweight Goblin, dressed in a gray suit, waiting for him. Behind him were a number of engineers, working on various projects. 'Prince Arthas, is it?' The overweight asked suspiciously. 'You certainly look like what the guy described.'

'I am Prince Arthas, yes.' said Arthas, surprised that he was not met with more terror.

The goblin looked down at a list he held in his hands. 'These Zeppelins are yours to use in transporting troops across the river. If you want to purchase more, we're open. No more freebies though.'

Leave it to the Goblins to give a Death Knight a set of standards. 'You Goblins astound me.' said Arthas in deadpan. 'I am leading an army whose long-term goal is to establish a paradise of eternal darkness where nothing breathes… and you are giving me free transportation to assist in my war?' Despite himself, he was amused.

'It's not free. It's not!' objected the Goblin, seemingly more upset at the idea of giving things away for free than betraying all who live. 'It's paid for in advance. Dar'khan Drathir paid good money to ensure your ticket over this way. He also paid better money to get me to read the following.' He removed a letter and read it. 'Ahem, To the esteemed Lord Arthas, Death Knight of the Scourge, Master of Undeath, and rightful King of Lordaeron, I offer you these transports as a token of goodwill between us. We have common cause against the elves in this matter, for the thousand insults dealt to me shall not go unavenged.

With these zeppelins you may cross the river, and bring death to your enemies unbarred. All I ask in return for my services is access to the energies of the Sunwell when you have finished your business in these parts.' The Goblin finished and looked up. 'That's all he wrote anyway. The guy paid more for that reading than he did for the zeppelins, actually. He said that money was no object. Guy was a bit nuts actually.'

Arthas considered the letter. From what he had gathered from the necromancers, what Dar'khan was requesting was quite impossible for him to grant. Arthas prided himself on being a man of his word, but in this case, he had not actually made any agreements. He might have a place for Dar'khan in the scourge once this was over, though.

'Oh,' said the Goblin 'and we'll provide the pilots with the zeppelins for no extra charge. Sort of a package deal.'

Arthas was not entirely satisfied with how this arrangement had turned out. Something about the goblins willingly selling out everyone who lived, simply because someone paid them to, disgusted him. Dar'khan at least had a personal vendetta to fulfill, but this Goblin could hardly say the same. Worse still, this was hardly out of character for the species, one of the most universally unprincipled and backstabbing of races. 'You truly are scum, you know that don't you?'

'It pays well.' Was all the goblin said.

Arthas made a mental note to not buy anything more from these people. And come back and kill them all later. When he ruled the world, war profiteering overweight people like this one would be impaled on stakes and left to bleed out. Actually, that seemed a bit of a generalization, maybe just the ones who broke deals would die like that. The rest would be given a swift but extraordinarily painful death.

'Load our forces into the zeppelins, while the rest of the Scourges catches up we'll seize the closest one east of here.' He said to a necromancer.

'With respect, Lord Arthas, would it not be better to gather a larger force before we strike?' asked the necromancer warily. 'The High Elven defenses are not to be underestimated.'

'We're not going to break the High Elven defenses.' said Arthas 'We're going to circumvent them.' He glanced to the goblin 'Tell your pilots to bring down their zeppelins, I will make use of their services at once.'

'Of course.' said the Goblin with a bow.

The Zeppelins lowered themselves on command, and a gangway was opened for the undead to stream into. There was space enough for Invincible to stand aboard, along with the crypt fiends and ghouls. Not to mention a meat wagon. Actually, there was so much space, that it wasn't even necessary to completely fill both zeppelins to accommodate his forces.

As the commander, Arthas did not stay in the same quarters as the rest of the undead. He made his way to the captain's lounge, which was directly adjacent to the Cockpit. It was a surprisingly luxurious affair, with velvet cushions, and ivory tables. The Goblin Captain sat within it, holding a cup of tea which he sipped as he noted his presence. 'Ah, Prince Arthas is it. I'm at your disposal, where would you like to go?'

Arthas looked at a table with a map on it. 'We go east to the Altar of Kings. Carefully now, I'd rather not directly engage the High Elves until I have to.'

They made their way through the lounge and into the cockpit, a cramped place with many leather seats. Arthas sat down in one of the seats, while the Captain sat down across from him and gave directions to the pilot. The zeppelin lifted off into the air, and Arthas realized he was flying for the first time.

The zeppelin flew with a smoothness that amazed Arthas. He could have easily been on the ground for all the vibrations he felt. The land flowed by beneath them as they cross the river, and over green fields and trees in full bloom. Quel'thalas was truly beautiful this time of year, and as they flew on Arthas felt a surge of regret that he was invading this place. As he flew onwards they came to the beginnings of a small hamlet. There their zeppelins halted, hovering in the air.

There was a tower, much like those he had seen before. 'Can those fire on us?' He asked.

'No,' said the Captain 'that's an Earthfury tower. It can't shoot us down. But if we try to cross over that way they will have archers and sorcerers waiting to do it for us.'

'Are you not legitimate businessmen?' asked Arthas, curious. 'Why should they fire on you?'

'Elves don't like us.' said the Captain 'Just our products. We're only allowed to conduct business in certain districts of Quel'thalas, and they come to us. If they think we might be able to expand our business, they put a guard up to make sure we stay where we're told. Damned inconvenient if you ask me. If we come within their airspace, they will blow us out of the sky.'

Arthas scanned the horizon, and could just see in the distance the Altar of Kings. It was a massive structure, with a might bronze statue of an Elven Lord standing atop it. Surprisingly, the Elven Lord had a beard. There was a table of stone at the base of the Altar, atop a massive set of steps, and on that altar gleamed a crystal. Yet there were many forces barring his path to the crystal, and he doubted he could fight them all with his meager troops. If he could only get past them somehow…

Then he saw the to the south the forests became much thicker, and high cliffs could be seen. 'What about those cliffs?' He asked, pointing with one skull gauntlet clad hand. 'If we go along them, we could stay out of range and sight, then surge in and drop our forces upon the ground. We could destroy the Altar and evacuate.'

'Hmm, could work.' admitted the Goblin. 'But they have anti-air towers there. It'll blast us down for sure, or at least give us a few knocks if we're quick about getting out.'

'Then here is what we shall do.' said Arthas, a plan coming to him. 'We shall sneak along those cliffs, and then you will land my forces directly at the feet of the Altar of Kings. You will then withdraw, and flee to the edge of the river, and await our return. When my forces come to you, we'll rejoin the zeppelins and we'll make our escape.'

'Sounds like a daring plan worthy of a Kul'tiran Swashbuckler.' commented the Captain 'Except, y'know, with zombies.'

'Ghouls actually,' deadpanned Arthas, finding himself liking the fellow. 'let's move out.'

The Captain hit a button. 'Captain to other Captain, our client has directed us with a special plan. Stay close, and follow my lead.'

Both zeppelins turned and closed together as they made their way around the High Elven village. They actually got a bit too close for comfort, as Arthas was aware that in the right circumstances zeppelins were explosive. Yet the Goblins knew their craft too well to collide, and they were soon crossing over the trees. Finally, he saw the Altar of King's at the center of a paved section of forests. Aside from a few elegant white towers, it was practically unguarded.

'This is too easy,' said Arthas, drawing Frostmourne. 'alert me when its time to land.' He made his way to the back to the main part of the zeppelin as they approached. He came into the passenger areas and found the Necromancers waiting for him, along with all his forces. 'Prepare for battle, when we drop down, we will immediately assault the Altar of King's. Pay no heed to any enemy reinforcements, or towers. Our focus is on the mission, and speed is of the essence.'

'As you say, Lord Arthas.' said the Necromancer.

'This is your Captain speaking,' said a voice over the intercom. 'prepare to disembark. Company is not responsible for any maimings which may occur.'

There was the sound of something burning the sides of the zeppelin echoed, and the walls shook as some assault took place. The floor vibrated as it lowered itself down towards the ground. Arthas mounted Invincible and prepared for battle. Suddenly there was a light thump, and the doors were flung open.

The undead surged out, finding no resistance as they charged the Altar of Kings. The tower which guarded it was cast down swiftly, even as the zeppelins retreated out of range, and they rushed up the steps. Arthas brought round Frostmourne and hacked deep into the leg of the statue, as the crypt fiends threw their webbing upon it, and hauled it down. The ghouls pushed against it, as meat Wagons tossed bodies and stones upon it to deface it. The statue was cast down. The arches on either side of it were destroyed.

By this time the Elves were becoming aware of the undead blitzkrieg and were rushing to stop them. Yet they were too late. Arthas caught sight of a gleam within the statues head and saw the moon crystal. It was green and brilliantly bright. He reached forward and grasped it, before putting it into his pack. 'That moon crystal is a component of the Key of the Three Moons.' said the ghost of Kel'thuzad 'The other two crystals must be found, if the Elf Gate is to be unlocked.'

'Quickly my warriors, we must escape the village.' He cried aloud as the elves got organized. As one the undead rushed away, through the streets of the Elven Town, ignoring their attackers. A number of necromancers were caught on their flight and cut down. A crypt fiend was riddled full of arrows and burned by the Earth Fury Tower. The meat wagon was broken to pieces, and several ghouls were surrounded and killed.

Even so, two-thirds of Arthas' force escaped, and ran swiftly over the Green Fields, and found the zeppelins waiting. Rushing into them, the zeppelins arose and flew over the river, leaving the high elves to live on and curse in vain. On some level, Arthas realized that the Goblins could have easily left them to die, and they hadn't. Evidently, they did not break deals, even when they ought to. Perhaps there was more to them than he had thought.

'So how did it go?' asked the Captain as he returned to the cockpit.

'Perfectly,' said Arthas in satisfied. 'make a course for my fortress. And stand by for my orders. This isn't over yet.'

'Another satisfied customer.' Was his only reply. 'Take us out Steve.'

In his absence, Arthas found that the acolytes had not done as much as he had hoped they would. Without someone to give them directions, they could do little beyond finish the construction of existing projects, make repairs and keep things running. He had been gone perhaps a few days. Walking before them, they must have sensed his displeasure.

'Is something wrong, milord?' asked the female acolyte he had saved from bandits nearly a month before.

'I am most displeased with your lack of progress.' he said and his words seemed to cut them to the core.

'But milord, you gave no orders?'

'If you were attacked by elves,' asked Arthas 'would you not defend yourselves without my orders? You must learn to operate on your own initiative.' He sighed 'No matter. I want you to continue construction of the fortress. I want proper defenses erected just outside the elvish village. Leave the hamlets untouched, while I keep things secure. Keep in mind that until you have established this base, our campaign will be delayed.'

'Yes milord, it won't happen again.' she said.

'Oh,' said Arthas 'and what is your name?'

'I am Serena,' she said 'it is my honor to serve you.'

'Take charge then Serena.' he said.

The acolytes worked quickly over the next few days. During this time he had to scramble a bit to keep his undead from tearing apart the homes of the high elven citizens, and he himself felt a vicious urge to participate, rather than restrain them. He was restless, and Frostmourne was becoming annoyed with his restraint, he could tell. Mentally he reassured the sword that he would find it enemies to slay later. That seemed to placate it.

No sooner had work begun on the skeleton of the Fortress, and the elves came rushing out of the trees, transported by goblin zeppelins. It seemed that they were playing both sides. The ensuing battle went badly for Arthas, as the elves advanced in a shield wall, as archers launched arrows over their warriors. A high elven swordsman hacked down two ghouls, before being slain by the magic of a crypt fiend. Arrows flew through the arrow, peppering a crypt fiend to death, as Arthas sent forth dark magic to slay several of the archers. Looking around, he saw that the battle was going badly. They were badly outnumbered and more than a little wounded.

The combat went on and on until Arthas alone remained standing, his vanguard of warriors dead around him, though most of the high elves had fallen. The Prince of Lordaeron hacked and slashed his enemies around him, felling them by the dozens. Finally, he found himself doing battle with a particularly tenacious high elven swordsman as the others fled. Arthas felt now the arrows of exhaustion besetting him as he dueled his enemy. After a lengthy fight, he beat down the man's sword, knocked aside his shield, and ran him through.

As the man fell dead, he drew out his sword from the body and began removing the arrows in his chest. There were three of them. As a human, he would have been dead from such wounds, yet he was now undead. Even though he had technically never died.

It was rather strange, actually. At any rate, Frostmourne seemed satisfied for the moment.

Removing a healing potion he had been saving. Drinking it down, his wounds healed, and he returned to the task of building the fortress. As he was doing so, he called up more undead from the rear lines in order to ensure their progress thus far wasn't a waste. He sensed that while he had been fighting here, his minions had been mustering forces from Stratholme, and resurrecting new corpses from graveyards. Before long his host was little by little

'Lord Arthas,' said Serena, coming up behind him. 'it appears that the elven villagers who were hiding in their homes have escaped. The attack was a diversion by Sylvanas to evacuate those left on the other side.'

'Very well,' said Arthas 'it hardly matters. I want you to begin constructing defenses where the village used to be. Destroy the houses if you have to. I'm sick of coddling them, and it's not as if there is anyone within.'

'As you say, Master.' Replied the Acolyte.

It took well over a week to construct the fortress to Arthas' satisfaction. Summoning took time, and every moment as more undead came to his aid he was deathly afraid that the Elves would attack again, and find his forward base devoid of a proper defense. Yet there was no second wave incoming, no assault to finish what their vanguard had started. Little by little he rebuilt his forces and his base, and when he was prepared, he made plans for a further assault.

Even as he opened his mouth to give orders, however, a vast flight of dragonhawk riders appeared over the treetops, hurling magical bolts down upon his forces. Acolytes were burned alive, as spirit towers returned fire. Endlessly the Dragonhawkes swarmed, as land troops disembarked from Goblin Zeppelins and assaulted the walls. He rallied his forces and met the enemy again in battle. After two hours of brutal fighting and many losses, the elves were defeated, but Arthas was back to square one.

And so it continued. Every time Arthas began to think he had rallied forces enough to launch an assault upon the second Altar of Kings, he found himself facing an Elven onslaught that destroyed most of his forces to fend off. It happened like this for days, and those days turned into weeks, and those weeks into a full month. Not that Quel'thalas changed with the seasons, he would not have known that fall was turning into winter had Serena not kept careful track of time.

During this time nothing was heard of the elves he had left behind, and what reports were brought to him indicated that they were holding a defensive position. Thus far they had staved off all attempts by the Undead garrisons to assault them, and Arthas put an end to that practice with a strongly worded letter. The undead needed to focus on their objective, not wiping out every elf on the planet.

'Lord Arthas,' said Serena 'should we not deal with the elves?'

'We don't need to.' said Arthas 'The elves desire to isolate themselves from the world goes beyond the inane. We will seal them up, and in a few short years I expect they will convince themselves that we are not a concern.'

Sometimes the Elves would come in such great numbers and weapons that Arthas would be genuinely concerned that they would overwhelm his defenses and forces, and break the scourges attack. However, this never came to pass, for his presence inspired his warriors to greater feats of heroism in combat. Several times during these many engagements, he caught a glimpse of Sylvanas Windrunner, firing from the back of the line with the wind running through her cloak and looking stunning as always. However, he never had the chance to fight her directly, for she always slipped away during the Elves retreat.

Then it became apparent one week that the Elves had slackened in their attacks. Their raids became smaller and less organized, and he began to suspect that they were the actions of individual adventurers, rather than the efforts of the elven military. Where before he would constantly have to bring in more forces to hold the ground he had already taken, now he was free to build up his forces without fear of assault.

The day concluded with a one side defense of his Fortress that ended in the deaths of the entire raid group. Arthas had scarcely had to lift a finger before the spirit towers did their work.

'The Elves have lost all taste for battle.' He noted as the corpses of his enemies were dragged away to the crypt. The sun was setting in the distance, and Quel'thalas' beauty had become mournful in nature, as though the trees were weeping for the blood which had been shed in droves. 'Prepare the zeppelins. We leave at dawn.'

This time when they left, Arthas was certain to fill the zeppelins up completely. The Captain welcomed him politely into the cockpit as the zeppelin lifted off. 'Where to this time, Prince?' He asked.

Ignoring the fact that he was being addressed purely by title, Arthas responded: 'Northwest this time, Captain. Keep to the forests, and we'll try to slip past the enemy defenses like before.'

'Right, right, you really are a sucker for mercy aren't you?' asked the Captain.

'Do your job, and I will do mine.' responded Arthas as the zeppelin crossed the river. This time the zeppelins went in single file, slowly making their way over the trees near the edge of civilization. As they pressed on, they went over an elvish lumber mill, where elven peasants were working busily. They looked up at the zeppelins in shock, and then several of them turned and fled towards a Castle in the distance. They had been seen.

'Speed up will you.' said Arthas quickly, leaning forward in his seat. 'Our enemies will move to stop us soon.'

'Your enemies you mean.' said the Captain. 'I just work here.'

'If you are shot down, do you not die?' asked Arthas bluntly.

'Point taken.' the Captain replied, before contacting the engine room by flipping a switch. 'Put an extra boost of speed in for us, we've got trouble coming our way.'

On they surged, faster than ever, and out of the window Arthas saw a force of rangers making their way through the hills. Sylvanas Windrunner was at their lead, bow in hand. Yet they were too late, for the Altar of Kings was before them.

'Ha!' said Arthas as he arose. 'We've made it in time! Go in for landing!'

'Yes sir,' said the Captain as Arthas rushed back to the cargo hold where his Soldiers were waiting. Once again they heard the sound of burning as the Sky Fury Towers assailed them, and once more it made no difference as they landed and charged out into the air of daylight.

* * *

Sylvanas Windrunner rushed through the woods, heeding the warnings of the commoners who had told her of the zeppelins which were heading for the Altar of Kings. She had received a description of what had happened to the last one from Lor'themar, and was determined that the Altar under her command would not suffer a similar fate. Although she hated Prince Arthas as much as any enemy, she had to admit that there was a terrifying sort of admiration she was willing for him. Thus far more elves had been killed trying to dislodge him from the ground he had taken, than in his actual advances. She and the Rangers rushed forward just in time to see the undead disembark. They charged forward, meaning to engage them.

They were completely ignored. Like a tide the undead swept past the Elves, and though some of them fell dead from swords and arrows, the rest made it to the Altar. Sylvanas realized as they began to tear it apart, that the only hope of stopping the undead was to force them to battle. She looked up.

'The zeppelins!' she cried 'Shoot the zeppelins! Don't let them escape!'

Magical arrows were launched, and embedded themselves in the zeppelins hulls, as the crafts turned around and fled beyond their range. Even as the archers attempted to get back into range, the undead finished destroying the Altar, down to the ground level.

Arthas' skeletal steed neighed and reared up onto its hind legs as he raised aloft two-thirds of the moon crystal, a brilliant red gem glowing like lava. 'The second moon crystal is ours!' He proclaimed in dark joy.

Sylvanas and her archers opened fired upon his undead, as her infantry charged them. The front row of undead fell dead beneath the volley and the others rushed to meet the infantry. The Ranger General fitted an arrow, channeling ice through it and aiming it at the Death Knight's black heart. There was a ring, and the arrow was cut in twain in midair by its gleaming blade.

Arthas smiled, his white air flowing around him as her infantry were repulsed, a number of them killed and the Death Knight led his forces away. He began attacking the northern sky fury tower, and Sylvanas realized his intentions. 'Stop them before they escape! Quickly!'

The infantry rushed forward, but before they could launch another assault the sky fury tower was destroyed, and the zeppelins, flaming and unsteady but still intact, came flying low to pick them up. The Death Knight and his Soldiers rushed in and made their escape. Sylvanas fired a defiant arrow at them as they fled, lodging itself in the woodwork of the cockpit. Yet they were away.

She looked around her. The villagers had gathered to see what the chaos was about. The town was intact. The Altar was destroyed. The undead had achieved their objective, and the Rangers looked like headless chickens for all the help they had been. They could barely keep up.

She stood there, torn between shock and incredulousness at what was happening to them. She'd spent the last who knew how long of her life serving as a Ranger of Silvermoon and scarcely once been recognized for her efforts by the Royal Court. Of course, she had a reputation as a protector amongst the lower orders, but that just led to a different problem. Because she was their protector, and she was failing them. Not that it mattered, since somebody didn't seem to view them as worth killing.

She supposed she should be grateful that he was avoiding destroying their towns and cities. It was almost as if he didn't want to destroy his enemies, or perhaps it was merely mocking the Elves for their helplessness. She felt more than a little insulted, actually.

'Milady, what now?' asked Lor'themar.

'He's good.' said Sylvanas in a moment of realization.

'What?' asked Lor'themar.

'Arthas Menethil,' She said 'the son of a bitch is good!'

When Arthas returned to the base, he found that a band of elven Adventurers dreaming of glory and honor had descended upon his castle and been promptly slaughtered. As he departed the zeppelin he stopped to glance back to the Captain. 'What is your name?' he asked suddenly.

'Mordavian,' answered the Captain 'what do you need?'

'I need you to scout out the area north of here.' Said Arthas 'Find me a safe path to the next Altar of Kings. In the meantime, I'm going to replenish my forces.'

'Fine, fine.' said Mordavian.

The parted ways and Arthas found himself mentally revising his plans for the Goblin species once world domination was his. They might prove useful if raised as sentient undead. Over the next few days, Arthas gradually increased the numbers of his forces, while assigning his acolytes to find new ways to improve their performance in battle. He realized during this time that he had grown in power a great deal since Vandemar. His death coil was far more deadly than it once was, and the aura which had used to enhance his soldier's power was stronger.

He wondered if he might ever hit a point where he could have defeated Uther in single combat. That idea appealed to him greatly. Yet he doubted he'd ever be able to test it. Suddenly his musings came to an abrupt end as Mordavian's zeppelins came rushing over the trees, pursued by dragonhawk riders. The riders hurled magical blasts from their lances, which singed the sides of the zeppelin as it barreled over the defenses. The spirit towers opened fire, upon the enemy who were few in number, and once the zeppelins reached the spirit towers, the dragonhawk riders realized they would not last long and retreated.

The zeppelins landed, and Mordavian stepped out onto the blighted earth, dusting himself off. His fine coat was racked with sweat, as he approached Arthas. 'That was a close one, all things considered. Also, I've got nothing good to report. I searched the entire island, and there is no way over that place which isn't guarded. You'll have to go through it. Or I suppose, we'll have to go through it.'

'Wonderful,' said Arthas 'anything else notable?'

'There are a number of way gates which lead to the other islands. They're guarded by skyfury towers.' continued Mordavian absently. 'If your interested in conquering them, you could probably wipe out the villages on the island, then set up camp. From there you could launch assaults against the elven towns. They have some really valuable resources we, I mean you, could use.'

Frostmourne hungered. A presence in Arthas' mind demanded blood. Now more than ever he was tempted to avert his plans, and destroy all life upon that Island. To obliterate everything there was to find. Yet something within him, something he did not know was still there, refused. 'That won't be necessary,' He said 'my business in these parts is almost at an end. Once we've broken through the elf gate, the scourge will be able to seize the Sunwell, and leave this wretched land.'

'Your choice,' said Mordavian 'not trying to tell you your job or anything.'

'Whatever the case,' said Arthas 'I require you to transport my soldiers over the river. We'll find a safe beachhead, and annihilate the towers. From there we can press forward, towards the final Altar of Kings.'

Once again they ascended into the air and made their way to the island. Arthas watched as Mordavian carefully guided the zeppelin over the trees, avoiding the range of any archers upon the ground as they sought a beachhead. 'What manner of name is Mordavian for a Goblin anyway?' He asked suddenly.

'My parents had odd taste.' replied the Goblin.

Then Arthas saw it, and open clearing without anyone present within it. It was a bit near the villages, but if he was careful he could avoid conflict. 'There, set us down there.'

'As you say.' said the Captain.

They landed, and Arthas led his undead forward towards the towers that the goblin had mentioned. To his irritation, they were not sky fury towers at all, but rather normal towers. Even as his forces tore at them they sent many bolts of light down upon them, as archers and Priests came from the nearby villages to harass his forces. Arthas ignored them, pressing the assault until all the towers lay in crumbled ruins. Swiftly he pulled his forces back, onto the zeppelins, even as the High Elves pursued them.

As he rushed into the cockpit, he sat down quickly. 'Mordavian, pull us back. With any luck, once we're out of sight they will lose interested and we'll be able to pass.'

Mordavian did not answer, merely pulling the zeppelins away from the island for a few miles, before looping around in the air, and once more soaring over it. As they skimmed over the trees, Arthas had a forbidding feeling. Yet they were unopposed in their progress over the way gate, and cross onto the next Island-

Where they were almost immediately greeted by towers launching projectiles at them. The craft shook beneath the barrage. Mordavian turned his craft around and made his way along the river, northeast, however, he soon came within range of another set of towers which fired upon them.

'Get us out of here!' snapped Arthas.

'I'm trying!' snapped Mordavian 'They have more defenses than most capitals in this place!' Flames could be seen coming from the other zeppelin as they zigzagged back and forth, pressed on all sides until at last, they came out over a way gate which stood unguarded save by a small force of Elven Swordsmen, who stood below, ready to fight.

Arthas did not intend to give them one. 'Take us over those trees to the Altar and land. I can see it there.'

'I've got a bad feeling about this.' muttered Mordavian to himself. 'But the customer is always right.'

They made their way over the trees and came over the Altar of Kings. To Arthas' pleasant surprise it was almost completely unguarded in terms of buildings. It had been built very near the hamlet which it served as the spiritual center for, and no towers had been erected to protect it. Unfortunately, this also meant that the human defenses were considerable. As the Undead swarmed forth, their way was blocked by a force of swordsmen, archers, and priests. The combat was heavy, for though Arthas outnumbered them greatly, he had not brought any necromancers, and space was tight. It took a while for his forces to envelope the enemy line. He fired a death coil at a group of priests, slaying many of them, then slew two swordsmen with Frostmourne. When most of the enemy had been defeated, at cost, the rest fled. He called out to his warriors.

'Ignore the rest of them! Destroy the Altar of Kings!'

The Undead descended, breaking apart masonry, and tearing downwards. Once more the statue fell and shattered upon the ground, and Arthas grasped the last Moon Crystal, a blue as deep and dark as the oceans. 'The Third Moon Crystal is ours!' Proclaimed Kel'thuzad 'The Key of the Three Moons is complete!'

Arthas made no speeches, for they were heavily pressed, and all that remained of his forces piled onto the zeppelins. This time they did not flee east, but west. A tense silence was in the air in the cockpit, for Arthas knew that if they ran into towers at this stage, they were sufficiently damaged that they might be blown out of the sky.

They made it to the other river and found no sign of the enemy. Arthas breathed in relief, but he knew that they were not out of the woods just yet. They turned south, and still, they saw nothing. They headed south on the river, and then they were under attack.

The craft shook as sky fury towers tore at them from both sides. Mordavian forced his Zeppelin forward at full speeds, and they knew that every moment might well be their last. They crossed over to the last island between them and safety and froze in horror. Before them stood a field of four, and they were badly damaged already.

'This is it…' realized Mordavian.

Yet nothing happened. The towers made no move against them, and suddenly Mordavian burst out laughing. 'They're earthfury towers!' He cackled. 'The two look exactly the same! We're home free!'

Arthas remained silent, for something was very wrong here. Why would the Elves make the only defense on a waygate meant to transport troops be purely focused against ground targets? An enemy who assaulted Quel'thalas would naturally try to seize that Island f st, if the bridge was cast down. Mordavian raised his communicator, and Arthas said nothing, still mulling it over.

'Its safe!' He laughed, filled with the joy of being alive. 'Their Earth Fury towers! Full speed ahead!'

Suddenly Arthas realized that they were not in range of the two far towers. As they pressed forward he realized that said towers were situated on the same side as his base. If the Elves were to be invaded, it would not be from the north.

He reached forward and snatched the communicator up. 'Halt immediately, you fool. Those are sky fury-'

And then they were in range. There was a flash of light, and Arthas was thrown back in his seat, the seat itself breaking as fire overtook the cockpit. Mordavian was screaming in pain as the flames burned him, and the craft descended at breakneck speed towards the ground. Then there was only darkness.

* * *

When Arthas came to his head ached. Frostmourne was in his grip, gleaming, but blood was in his eyes. He reached up, and realized that his injuries had healed, but his vision was glazed as he picked himself up. The world was a blur. Distantly he was aware that the second zeppelin was trying to back petal, as his forces pulled themselves up. There was dull roaring sound in his ears as the craft exploded in a flash of white that sent him stumbling away. He nearly fell, and caught himself on Frostmourne, driving the blade into the dirt to keep himself upright.

They were being fired upon, he realized. The earth fury towers were launching attacks, and already many of his undead had been killed as the wandered, stunned. He needed to get organized. He was near a waygate.

He was near a waygate!

'Pull back!' He called as he arose, the world shifting into focus. 'Pull back into the woods!' If Sylvanas Windrunnner came through there with a force of High Elves, in this state he was done for.

His forces moved sluggishly. He moved sluggishly. A brave elven archer fired an arrow past his shoulder, and he charged them. Ducking aside from another shot he brought Frostmourne around and beheaded her with one stroke. His forces had recovered somewhat, they were out of range of the earth fury towers. Now what?

Now he was stranded. The only way off this Island was through the way gates, which led to enemy bastions he had refused to destroy. He was very likely to die here, he realized, for thought he possessed Soldiers enough to wipe out all life on this island, he was trapped between countless enemies with no way off.

Why hadn't he listened to the voices? Why hadn't he slaughtered the Elves? If he had, he could have laid to waste the Elves, and built fortresses of his own. Escape could have been a simple matter. Now…

It was over. He was going to die here.

Mordavian was dead. The fact suddenly occurred to him. He had liked that goblin. The goblin had been useful. He hadn't talked back every five minutes telling his Prince what he could and could not do. He made a suggestion, and when it was overridden, he followed his orders. And now he was dead.

There was no hope of bringing him back as a sentient undead. Whatever was left of him now was far beyond the power of necromancy to restore. Arthas felt strangely bitter about that. That bitterness turned into rage, and finding Invincible, he pulled himself into the saddle, and led his remaining forces in a rush towards a tower, and he brought round Frostmourne to hack the stone in twain. It toppled forward, crashing to the ground. Even as he did so, however, a vast force of high elven infantry streamed through the gate.

His undead were torn apart by the attack. His crypt fiends hacked down, his ghouls run through. Surrounded on all sides, Arthas readied his sword to make a final stand. At that moment, Invincible was driven by some force to vault forward over the heads of his enemies, tearing through the island, past twanging bows and slashing swords, then leapt into the river.

Arthas was plunged into fridgid water, his head beneath the waves as he was thrown from the saddle. Grasping desperately, he grasped the reigns of his favorite war horse and dragged his head above the water. They rushed through the currents, arrows landing around them in the water. By fate or chance none found their mark on horse or master. Finally Invincible reached the other side, and hauled both of them onto shore. Arthas let go of the reigns, and pulled himself onto the ground, and lay upon it, exhausted and fallen for a time he could not remember. Yet in his hand was the completed Key of Three Moons.

'Finally,' He said, rising to his feet as Invincible made its way to him, and nuzzled him. He took it by the bridle, and led the horse to his necropolis, though it wasn't really necessary. There he found his acolytes waiting for him.

'Lord Arthas,' said Serena. 'when we saw your zeppelin had been shot down, we feared the worst. I attempted to purchase the services of additional zeppelins, however the Goblins refused to deal with anyone other than you.'

'Than I will approach them personally.' said Arthas, holding a great deal of anger still. 'For now, our forces have been devastated. It is essential that we muster another army. This will be the last one, I think. One more attack, and this part of the war will be over.'

'That is wonderful news Lord.' said Serena. 'We shall double our efforts. In truth, we have already begun rebuilding the army. When your zeppelin was destroyed, we felt it would be necessary to reinforce our standing forces.'

'Well done,' said Arthas 'now if you'll excuse me I have a meeting to attend.'

He made his way on horseback to the Goblin Observatory, where the goblins even now awaited him. The overweight one greeted him personally. 'Well your alive. That's good, it means more business for me.'

'Mordavian is dead.' said Arthas coolly.

'Oh good, I would hate to have to pay him after he blew up a zeppelin-'

That was as far as he got. Quietly Arthas snapped inside, and chopped the goblins head off without another word. The Goblins halted fearfully as he gazed over them with distain. 'Who was his second in command?' He asked mildly as the goblins cowered.

'Uh… Mordavian.' said a small goblin.

'Who was his third in command?'

'Me.' said the goblin quickly.

'Congratulations on your new promotion,' said Arthas 'now get me two new zeppelins.'

'Will you be paying us?'

Arthas considered that hoblins never worked for free, and would in fact rather die then do so. 'Of course.' He answered.

'It was a pleasure doing business with you sir.' said the goblin, not sure whether to be elated at the new promotion, or afraid for his life. From what Arthas sensed he settled for a little of both.

Days passed before his forces were ready for war, of course, and Arthas spent much of his time pacing restlessly as events transpired. He held onto his anger, it was one of the few emotions he could still feel occasionally, and resolved to himself that he had been entirely too restrained until now. This was a war, not an adventure. He had a responsibility to his subordinates to at least ensure the lane of retreat remained open.

It suddenly occurred to him that if Tichondrius had been present, the Dreadlord might have easily purchased zeppelins. He doubted the Goblins would have denied him, the Demon oozed control. Which was ironic since he had been entirely hands off in his handling of the situation. For all the Dreadlord's claims of serving the Lich King, he could not have done less than he was doing right now to help. That annoyed Arthas, for he despised dead weight.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door of his quarters and he opened it to find Serena waiting. 'Forgive me for my intrusion, Great Lord. But your army is assembled.'

'Ah, at last.' he said, satisfied.

Arthas observed as his minions loaded themselves onto the transports en masse, directly in front of the goblin laboratory. Before he had done so far from them, but now, he wanted to give them an idea of just whose side they had decided to be on. He entered the zeppelin last of all, and his minions made way for him with great ceremony. The interior of the zeppelin was nowhere near as ornate as the previous one. It had been thrown together on the fly, rather than lovingly crafted, and it could not have been more apparent. Arthas said nothing to his new subordinates, who seemed now in mortal terror of him. They looked up. 'Where to?'

'Take us across the river.' said Arthas. 'Just north of here, we land on the first available force of land. I don't care if the enemy has towers there.' He had resolved to avenge his losses upon the High Elves, by wiping out their standing militia forces.

They crossed the river, ignoring a safe landing spot in favor of landing directly before their enemies. The undead washed over the militia in the center of their village and tore them to shreds. For a brief few moments the enemy held them back by sheer weight of determination, as a Dragonhawk hurled magic from the sky. Then they were overwhelmed, and the dragonhawk was pulled down by crypt fiends and cut to pieces.

Yet it wasn't enough. Arthas turned to the Arcane Sanctum. The only thing of note in this village, which they no doubt held some pride in. 'Destroy that sanctum. Now!'

The Undead surrounded it, and broke down its walls. They burned its spellbooks, and tore its desks and rooms to pieces, until nothing remained of it but a ruin. Arthas turned his gaze to the houses, for he now had it in mind to corrupt the very land itself.

Yet he mastered himself. There was no point in continuing this combat any further. He ordered his troops north and laid to waste the last skyfury tower between him and the inner gate to Silvermoon.

There was one sky fury tower barring their path, however it was not sufficient to bring them down. Arthas' forces descended en masse, and tore down the tower. The gate guards rushed forward to meet them, however Arthas paid no heed to the ongoing battle. He made his way through the combat unflinchingly until he came to the gate. Around him undead overwhelmed the elven defenders, slaying them with a terrible fury brought on by imminent victory. Hardly a ghoul seemed to be dying in the combat.

By the unspoken command of some terrible force, the combat parted so that no one now stood to bar his path. He approached the gate. He took a moment to admire its form, the beautiful carvings and elegant reinforced woodwork. It truly was a work of art as well as a formidable defense. He raised the Moon Crystal, and he knew that it was within his power to open it simply. Yet he remembered Mordavian, and reflected that the elves might close it again. 'Finally,' he said as his warrior finished their grisly work. 'once we've dealt with Sylvanas, the Inner Kingdom shall be ours.'

Then he raised the Key of Three Moons. There was a swirling of power around his hand as the gate shuddered beneath the weight of command, seemingly reluctant to yield before him. Splinters began to show in the woodwork. Suddenly the doors exploded, breaking into splinters and shards of twisted metal, and leaving almost nothing left.

Gripping the reins on Invincible, Arthas rode forward, his warriors walking behind him. He half expected Sylvanas to be standing before him, bow readied. Instead she was nowhere to be found. 'Damn you monsters!' Her voice snarled as if from nowhere. 'What will it take to drive you back!'

Arthas sighed. 'The Ranger Woman is beginning to vex me greatly.'

Victory was theirs. Yet Arthas could not help but feel a certain emptiness about the fact.

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

Well here it is, chapter number four. This one was actually a lot of fun both to play and to write, because it required me to think strategically. I honestly didn't plan for Mordavian to die in the course of the story, but since the original Goblin zeppelins I used got blown up, I had to. Overall his usefulness to the narrative was at an end, so it worked out. I was planning to have him and Arthas part amicably, but that didn't work out. The whole thing where swimming back to the base happened is largely symbolic. See, regular units can't use the Goblin Laboratory. Only Arthas can. That means that if you lose your last zeppelin, and Arthas is across the river, he can't get back.

The only solution is to get him killed so you can bring him back at an Altar of Darkness. Since I'm of the opinion that Altar's are not canon, or else they would just bring back Uther with one, I had to work around that.

It's kind of funny because this whole mission ended up being a day in the limelight for the goblin race. It really is the most interesting part of the whole affair. What kind of person is willing to work with an omnicidal maniac, simply for cash? A goblin, thats who, and its a far more interesting way of resolving the bridge-is-out situation than just throwing corpses at the problem until it goes away.

As for the bit with Sylvanas, I have always imagined Sylvanas to be a complete loser in her social life. Compare her interactions with her men to Arthas' interactions with his soldiers. Arthas knows all their names, and cares about their hopes and dreams. Even as a Death Knight. Sylvanas in sharp contrast only knows her second in command's name, and sends her troops to die in droves in the main timeline. My general theory is that Arthas is the first real social contact she's had in years, since her sister Alleria died. It certainly explains why she would be stupid enough to repeatedly taunt the guy who is crushing all her defenses. Or maybe she was just trying to inspire hope in her people.

On a separate note, I am not looking forward to the next mission. At all. I tried beating this one on Hard difficulty, and just couldn't do it. The whole smash and grab tactic simply doesn't work when your enemy keeps truly massive reserves of troops at the ready to defend their base at any one time. To win I would have had to destroy their bases, which would defy the entire point of a moral run.

 **EDIT:**

This edit was a chore to get posted, actually. Made to alterations only to find that for some reason the computer I was on couldn't finalize the edits on fanfiction. So I had to copy and paste it into an email, send it to another computer, and then copy and paste that to fanfiction as a new document. Then I was able to post this.

The things I do for you people.

Changed the chapter to be a bit less video gamey and a bit more like a book. Also I've more or less added an OC into the events of the story, someone to represent the Cult of the Damned. I figured I'd make it a female because there aren't enough female characters of relevance in Blizzard Games. It seems like every female character they write is either an unrepentant complete monster, or a incorruptibly pure victim who can't take care of herself. There is never anything in between.


	5. The Fall of Silvermoon

**Chapter Five: The Fall of Silvermoon**

The Ranger Corps was in a state of panic about the destruction of the elf gate. Messengers rushed back and forth between them gradually pieced together the full story. Using goblin zeppelins, the undead had circumvented most of the high elves most powerful defenses and seized the Key of Three Moons from the Altars of Kings. The Key had been forged originally as a last resort by Anastarian Sunstrider himself, in case the Kings of Quel'thalas ever became evil and had to be overthrown. Now they had been utilized to break through to the inner Kingdom by their enemies.

Sylvanas Windrunner listened as the various captains involved argued over whose fault it was and who was to be held responsible. Most notable of all was how they were going to drive out the undead who held a position directly outside the second elf gate, cutting off all communication and supply lines between the outer kingdom and the middle kingdom. While Sylvanas would admit these were important considerations, she was disappointed that no one had brought up what were the most relevant concerns.

She stood up suddenly. 'I am taking my forces save Silvermoon!' She declared openly. 'Who will go with me?!'

There was absolute silence. Communication between the inner Kingdom and the outer regions had always been sparse, but this was absurd. 'Sylvanas,' said a Soldier whose name she could not remember. 'we've lost a lot of good people just trying to drive the undead out of _this_ section of Quel'thalas. Silvermoon has powerful defenses, they can take care of themselves. We need to focus on defeating the undead here-'

'Silvermoon is the heart of Quel'thalas!' snapped Sylvanas 'I will not simply allow the undead to seize it without at least some form of resistance.' Yet it hardly mattered, did it? The fact was that this was no vengeful crowd with nothing to lose. The undead had left the entirety of the villages in this place intact. No one wanted to leave their homes ill defended to go defend a place they had never even been before. 'That's it then?' she said to her innumerable lieutenants, hardly believing it. 'No one?'

She felt disappointment in her people. The Ranger core was not so much an organized military unit, as a vast number of militias, usually funded by their own towns. She had authority over them as a commander, but the core of her Rangers, the full-time forces which she had relied upon to act as the strong center of her armies, were gone. Arthas had decimated them in his assault upon the first elf gate. All she had left were the scattered militia and a small force of surviving Rangers.

It was here that a different leader would have addressed them all by name. Spoken to them of their individual accomplishments, shamed them into fighting for King and country. Yet Sylvanas had never had much of a head for names. She was good at tactics, at archery, but when it came to getting people to like her, and liking them, in turn, she was terrible. She let Lor'themar handle all the personal matters. Her strength was in means and ends. Cold and calculated decisions.

All she could do here was lead by example.

'Then I will go myself.' She decided after a moment.

She left the hunters hall, fully intent to face the entirety of the undead hosts herself. Yet she would not face her enemies alone, for at that moment Lor'themar and a number of other Lieutenant rushed out of the hall after her. 'We and our forces are yours to command, Lady Sylvanas.' said Lor'themar.

'Thank you.' She answered, satisfied that at least someone would go with her.

The undead had cleared a path by air, from which their innumerable abominations were transported over the rivers in safety. As a group of zeppelins flew over the river, Sylvanas flashed a mirror. Suddenly a force of dragon hawk riders flew out of the trees and assaulted the zeppelins, which rushed to try and land as the magical assault was conducted. One of them exploded into a great plume of fire and crashed to pieces upon the rock of the riverbank. Another reached the far shore and began to unload its forces. Yet they only found the elves waiting for them, and the elves fell upon them with thoughts of vengeance on their minds. The ensuing battle took a few minutes as elven swordsmen hacked down ghouls, while others were clawed to death. Sylvanas shot three arrows in a moment and each one slew a necromancer.

Lor'themare beheaded a crypt fiend, while elvish mages slowed the undead. A wounded high elf was restored to health by a priest. Finally, the battle ended. This group of reinforcements, at least, would not get through. 'Well done rangers,' she said to them. 'with Arthas isolated from his reinforcements, our priority is now to cut off the head of the beast. Onwards!'

She led her forces over the shattered elf gate and into the heart of Quel'thalas, creeping through the trees in search of their enemy. Before long they found him, and his forces. There, from the blackened trees, Sylvanas observed the Death Knight's meeting with the Dreadlord Tichondrius…

* * *

Days later, on the outskirts of the elves' capital of Silvermoon Arthas Menethil had halted his forces to consolidate his gains. He'd sent out acolytes and necromancers to resurrect the dead of any graveyards they might find and was busy establishing a foothold from which he could conduct his offensive. As he made his way through camp, situated in the foothills above Silvermoon, Serena approached him.

'Lord Arthas, do you believe we can truly take Silvermoon?'

'Yes,' said Arthas 'however I doubt it will be easy. Silvermoon's defenses are considerable, I've seen them before. And the elves from the other sections of Quel'thalas might well appear to try and stop us. This will be a very difficult battle.'

'Lord Arthas,' said a necromancer 'Dar'khan has come. He wishes to speak with you.'

'Bring him forward,' said Arthas.

Dar'khan emerged into plain view and bowed low with a graceful ease. 'The city of Silvermoon is completely unaware of your presence in these hills. I have ensured that your forces were not observed by our early warning systems. When you strike, they will have no warning.'

'Well done.' said Arthas 'You have been of great service to the scourge, Dar'khan. I shall remember it. For now, return to the capital and dissuade them from looking for us. We have a window of opportunity and we must use it.'

'As you wish, Lord Arthas.' said Dar'khan, before teleporting away.

'...Disgraceful,' said Arthas after a moment.

'What?' said Serena.

'King Anastarian's conduct.' explained Arthas 'It is one thing for him to turn a blind eye to the suffering of other peoples. It's quite another for him to be ignorant of an invasion marching through his own Kingdom. Now I suppose only one question remains: Where has Tichondrius got to, and why isn't he helping?

As if upon cue Tichondrius made his entrance, appearing in a veil of green mist which was pulled back to reveal the Dreadlord, looking almost as annoyed with Arthas as Arthas was with him. 'You've performed adequately… so far.' He stated smoothly. 'But the true test still lies before you.'

'I was wondering when you'd show up.' said Arthas in irritation. Was the scourge any point during this little campaign going to be able to control a Dreadlord?

'I am here to ensure you do your job, little human.' said Tichondrius in a tone of extraordinary contempt. 'Not do it for you.'

No? Was that his final answer? 'I will reach the Sunwell on my own, Dreadlord.' Was what he said.

'Be warned.' said Tichondrius 'It is a pool of mystical energies from which the elves draw their immortal powers. They will not give it up easily.' And with that, he faded into green mist. Once again marveled how someone could say so much, and be of so little help.

'Do you think he suspects you've been aiding me, necromancer?' asked Arthas curiously, feeling a good deal of ill will towards his superior.

'I'm sure he suspects quite a bit.' said Kel'thuzad 'It is his nature to assume the worst. Now steel yourself, the hour of my rebirth draws near.'

No one spoke for the next few minutes as the scourge was put in order. However almost before Arthas could give any orders, a force of elves assailed them from the right flank, killing a number of undead before he could even move. Sylvanas Windrunner was at their head, her forces charging alongside her to tear into his defenses. Arthas drew Frostmourne and led his forces to drive his enemies back.

'Did you forget about us, you wretches?!' Asked Sylvanas in an almost chiding tone as she slew a ghoul with a shot from her bow. 'Bash'a no falor talah!'

The scourge moved to wipe them out, but Sylvanas and her forces withdrew before they could lay claws upon them, and their enemies were gone into the woods. Frostmourne went unfed and was irritated. The sword seemed to hunger for Sylvanas' blood in particular.

 _'_ _She is persistent,'_ noted Kel'thuzad in amusement. _'reminds me of you, Death Knight.'_

'Shut up you damn ghost.' said Arthas in irritation. A profound frustration fell over him.

A necromancer approached him and coughed to get his attention. 'Lord Arthas, the elf woman will likely attempt to summon reinforcements.'

'Then watch for her runners!' snarled Arthas 'None of them must get through!' He was all for restraint, but he wasn't about to sacrifice the element of surprise for that alone. Especially not in such an important combat. As a point of fact, he had anticipated that something like this might happen and had prepared in advance. Yet he would not reveal his hand just yet. There was something to be said for drama.

Preparations continued for some time before the Necromancer returned. 'Lord Arthas, Sylvanas has sent a runner to Silvermoon. The elves are sure to send more forces at us.' He moved his hands and revealed in a vision yellow-clad soldier carrying a parchment rushing away from Sylvanas. The man passed into a mountain pass, and Arthas smiled, as the view showed six statues.

'The gargoyles we brought back from Northrend should prove useful here.' He said, and with a wave of his hand, he awakened the creatures within. The statues screeched and took on life as they descended upon the runner and tore him to shreds in moments. 'Keep a watch on that area. Tell me if she sends any more.' With that problem dealt with, Arthas turned his mind to other matters. As the acolytes were gathering his forces for the assault upon Silvermoon, Arthas rode out to begin scouting the land.

The Prince headed southwest at first, crossing a bridge and finding there a high elven village, completely unguarded. He paid the Elves no mind as they fled in terror to their homes, and made his way north until he found a bridge. Crossing it, he saw that Sylvanas Windrunner had set up her forces in a fortified town some miles north of Silvermoon. There she was rallying the locals into a fighting force to launch assaults against him. 'Well, now we know where she is located. She has far fewer soldiers than I would have expected?'

 _'_ _Perhaps she is having difficulty motivating the people of Quel'thalas to resist us.'_ speculated Kel'thuzad keenly.

There was silence for a long, long moment as Arthas considered the best course of action. The best course of action was to overwhelm this village, to destroy it utterly and at last put an end to the threat posed by Sylvanas. He would need all the power he could to deal with Silvermoon, he could scarcely afford to fight a two-front war on top of that. It made perfect tactical sense to slay Sylvanas, of that he was certain.

And yet he found himself turning and making his way back over the bridge, knowing somehow that he would not be returning this way, with or without an army. Perhaps it was pity or his irritation with the Dreadlords. Or perhaps he had seen something of himself within the elven ranger and had no desire to create another person like him. He wasn't sure of the answer himself. It was a beautiful day in Quel'thalas, undead aside. Birds were singing, flowers were blooming, and he found himself appreciating that beauty, even as he made his way past a number of high elven villages which it would be the essence of simplicity to slaughter.

 _'_ _You mean to spare her, don't you?'_ accused Kel'thuzad _'This mercy of yours shall be your undoing, Death Knight.'_

Arthas ignored him and made his ways back to his Fortress. A necromancer rushed to meet him as he arrived. 'Lord Arthas, Sylvanas has sent a runner to Silvermoon! He is taking the eastern bridge.'

'That's near here.' noted Arthas 'The closer he is to danger, the farther he is from harm, is it?' He drew Frostmourne in a smooth movement. 'I'll prove him wrong shortly.'

Turning Invincible, he rode out upon thunderous hooves. He passed beyond the blackened woodlands which marked his base camp, and through the green of the forest until at last, he came to stand before the bridge. The runner was crossing towards him with all haste, and the man froze terrified out of his mind as he saw Arthas raise Frostmourne. In that moment time, itself seemed to slow down, and Arthas realized that the runner did not want to die. That no one he had fought had wanted to die. That Mal'ganis had not wanted to die, for all his macabre sadism. It was a feeling he could emphasize with, something that connected himself, and all living things.

For a moment that stretched into eternity, no one moved. Then the runner took one step forward. Mentally Arthas unleashed a death coil, which surged forward and killed the man instantly. He was impressed with the man's devotion and left his body in place as he returned to the camp, now more determined than ever to avoid slaying Sylvanas.

Ironically a desire for more life was the primary reason the Cult of the Damned had formed. Immortality for service. Wasn't that why they turned on Lordaeron in the first place? He resolved to find out what motivated his subjects, to understand them better later. Yet Arthas in that moment on the bridge had realized that he would not live forever. Sooner or later, whether by the sword or some other machination of fate or destiny, he would die. What would happen then? He did not like thinking about it and put it from his mind. He'd deal with Uther's curse another day.

He returned to camp and occupied himself overseeing the acolytes in their creation of more undead. The scourge was a truly remarkable entity. As long as they had buildings and acolytes to run them, they could create an endless force of undead to wash over their enemies. Yet it was far duller than one would think to oversee. Once one got used to the nightmarish bodies, and the stench of corpses, what was left beyond boredom?

Sylvanas' forces made several more attempts to harass his forces, but he had already erected spirit towers throughout his base, and these attacks were easily fended off. After a few minor skirmishes with the enemy, Arthas became confident that he could defeat Silvermoon without defeating Sylvanas. To amuse himself in the days of boredom, Arthas spent his time seeing through the eyes of the gargoyles as he directed them to scout out the lands of Quel'thalas surrounding them. Most of it was fairly unremarkable.

Trees, a village, more trees, etc etc. Even scouting around the outskirts of Sylvanas' base failed to amuse him much. Then through their eyes, he saw something of note, near to the southwest of his base, across the river, almost on the opposite side of Silvermoon. A camp, occupied by forest trolls and ogres. The forest trolls were legendary enemies of the high elves, and Arthas suddenly had an idea, born of a previous alliance in Northrend. Gathering a large force of undead, making his way across the bridges, and through the Elven Hamlets.

At last, he reached the ogres and trolls. At once they rallied and charged to meet the undead, who met them halfway with equal savagery. The ogres fought valiantly, laying about them with their clubs to crush ghouls, as ogre magi enhanced the strength of all who served under them. The forest trolls hurled axes into the ranks of the dead felling many, as troll priests healed the wounds of their warriors.

Yet the tide of the undead was beyond stopping, and Arthas slew many ogres with Frostmourne, killing trolls with death coils until the clans fell back in terror. Yet even as they fell back, they turned and rallied under the direction of their war leader, and stood their ground as greater numbers arrived to reinforce them. Arthas halted his assault just out of throwing range. 'Are you done fighting?' He asked them in a low tone. 'Because I would be glad to finish you off if you feel like going a few more rounds?'

'I'd like ta be seeing ya try,' boasted the troll chieftain as he emerged. He had only one arm, and the stump was blackened from fire and he wore a blue scarf before his face. One of his eyes had been burned out, a necessary step by the Elves to ensure blindness. Trolls regenerated if their wounds were not cauterized. 'What do ya be wantin', Prince of the Dead?'

'Zul'jin, is it?' guessed Arthas in surprise.

'None other.' replied Zul'jin.

'You want the Elves dead, don't you?' Arthas asked 'That's why you allied with the Horde in the first place, isn't it?'

'What be ya point?' Zul'jin asked keenly.

Arthas chuckled ruefully. 'Well the present situation speaks to their ability to keep promises, doesn't it? They failed you.' It was a statement of fact, and Zul'jin knew it. 'Ally with me, and I will not.'

Zul'jin looked at him seriously, eyeing his armies contemplatively. 'Those be big words, coming from a human. But I've been watching ya so far, and with my help, ya might back em up. But why should I be committing to such a dangerous venture?'

'Because I'm not here to destroy the people of Quel'thalas.' said Arthas with a smile. 'I'm here to use the Sunwell to bring back a dead man. A dead man of powerful unholy energies. Such a use might well affect the source of the Elves power… negatively.'

'…You mean to corrupt the Sunwell.' realized Zul'jin, and he laughed joyously. 'Now that be a blow I _wish_ I had thought of. Alrighty then, da forest trolls and ogre legion will lend you our clubs and axes. But dis had better be worth it.'

Arthas' smile widened. 'Excellent,' he said 'when this is over you will be the trolls who raided Silvermoon, Kel'thuzad will live again, and the power of the Elves will be snuffed out. Forever.' He doubted that would actually be the case, however, he was playing to his audience, and it worked perfectly.

It took a few days for Zul'jin to rally all his forces in the region, during which Arthas brought forth a large part of his own soldiers from the various bastions. On the fourth day, the two armies joined together so that ogres marched alongside trolls, ghouls, and crypt fiends. Even so, they kept a healthy distance away from each other. Allies they might have been, but their alliance was one of hatred, meaning that it was fragile in nature. They journeyed south, beyond the cliffs, and finally halted before the bridge of Silvermoon, waiting. There was a tense air amongst the Forest Trolls, and it bled over into Arthas and his forces. This was what they had been working for all this time.

'This isn't yer moment ya know.' said Zul'jin suddenly, appearing behind Arthas. 'It ain't. Oh, ya might have spent the last few months planning fer this attack, but we forest trolls have spent the last few thousand planning fer it. This be our moment. We've been waiting for this our whole lives, and the lives of our grandfathers to do this.'

'Then let's go to it.' said Arthas, eager to begin.

'Forward! Death to da elves!' cried Zul'jin.

'Death to da elves!' called the forest trolls and ogres.

As one the ogres and ghouls rushed across the bridge, as one the forest trolls and crypt fiends followed behind. Never had a force so varied been in such suspense as they crossed the threshold and met the Elves in battle!

It was almost disappointing, Arthas would reflect later. The Elves were taken completely off guard and would have been in no shape to fight them off even if they hadn't been. The trolls, undead, and ogres overwhelmed their best defenses, tearing down their high towers and laying to waste to the front lines in minutes. A ballista was smashed by an ogre even as it was loaded. A line of swordsmen and archers was swept away by crowds of ghouls. A sorceress and priest were killed even as they cast a spell by troll axe throwers. Such was the fury of the onslaught that as the combat raged, it swiftly became apparent that Silvermoon's defenses had been entirely overrated.

Citizens fled in terror as the forest trolls set upon them, ogres joining in the fun.

The city was defenseless before their onslaught, and Arthas realized that this had ceased to be a battle. If he did not act soon it would be a massacre. He rode to Zul'jin, watching as the forest trolls rushed to other sections of the city, looting and killing everything in sight, as the Silvermoon guard rushed to stop them. The troll turned to him from where he was watching with a shark-like smile on his face. 'Whatcha want?'

'We are not finished here.' said Arthas flatly. 'Take command of your soldiers.' The trolls had begun setting fire to some of the buildings, while others were playing target practice with fleeing civilians.

'Ah, let them have their fun.' replied Zul'jin as the scream of an elven woman echoed throughout the streets, causing the death knight to flinch.

'This battle is not won!' hissed Arthas, leaning forward. 'We still have to take the Sunwell! Succeed, and we will be legends. Fail, and the Elves will recover from this in a few hundred years. That's less than a lifetime to them!'

That seemed to get through to Zul'jin, and the troll somewhat reluctantly rushed to reign in his forces.

It took a few minutes for the trolls and ogres to be convinced to abandon their sacking of the city in favor of a far greater victory. Arthas, for his part, took all his undead away from the sacking with a thought. Together they made their way into the depths of the city, meeting no further resistance. They left behind them streets that had run red with the blood of defenders, and flaming buildings. Finally, they reached the harbor, leading to the coast looking out to the Sunwell Island. Yet every boat in the harbor had been sunk. The waters remained before them, cold as they lapped against the shore. Arthas urged his horse forward to the front of the ranks, as the trolls waited doubtfully. They had no love of the sea. Some of them glanced back to the city, where the elves had begun to rally to fight once more against their attackers. If something was not done soon, Zul'jin and his forces would go back to what they were doing before, that being mindless murder.

'So what's da plan for getting us across da waters?' asked Zul'jin eventually. 'Steal some ships?' The sarcasm in his voice was not appreciated.

'That won't be necessary,' said a voice not Arthas' own. He dismounted and raised Frostmourne in both hands, before lightly tapping it against the water. Energy poured through the sword into the water, which froze solid and covered a vast stretch of the waters in frigid pure white ice. An icy bridge had been formed across the north sea. Drawing back his sword, Arthas sheathed it and pulled himself back into the saddle. 'Quickly my warriors, over the waters while the enchantments holds!'

The combined forces rushed onwards over the ice, a troll or ogre occasionally slipping as they did so. Some fell into the waters and had to be hoisted back up by their comrades. It was cold upon the bare feet of the Trolls, and they looked quite uncomfortable as they ran. Even so, they pressed forward and finally reached the Sunwell Isle. Quel'Danas loomed above them, and they swiftly scaled up the harbors steps and into the Island itself. Finally, they saw the Sunwell.

And though Arthas' was by now a complete cynic, he had to admit it was truly beautiful, seeming to swirl with a million unknowable colors that did not hurt the eyes, but fascinate. Its eldritch nature did not disturb, but comfort. It gave one the sense that there was indeed order, and purpose in a purposeless world. Even the trolls seemed to be affected, for there were murmurs of wonder amongst them as they moved forward. Then as he rode forward into the plaza, Arthas saw a body, lying face down mere feet from the Sunwell. It was a dark haired elf, reaching out for the Sunwell, mere feet away.

Then the rock golems showed appeared. They were taller than buildings and supported by towers which burst into power and began shooting many bolts of light at them, slaying several. The undead, trolls, and ogres rallied to meet them in battle, their weapons readied. Yet many were killed in that first charge against the Sunwell's guardians. Arthas did not initially attend to the fray, leading Invincible slowly through it, until he found the body again. Kneeling down by it, he turned it around and gazed at the face of Dar'khan lying dead upon the flagstones, mere feet away from his precious Sunwell. It would seem Dar'khan would not have the opportunity to feel cheated. The undead and ogres and trolls continued to battle the golems, beating them with their weapons despite the considerable casualties they sustained. Arthas charged into the fray, and hacked at a rock golem with his sword, cutting deeply. It reeled as one leg became unstable, and the warriors pressed their advantage.

Then Arthas' gaze was drawn away from the battle, to the frozen river. There making his way toward the conflict, was High King Anasterian Sunstrider, blade in hand. Behind him marched a force of his royal guard. The whispers of Frostmourne told Arthas that they must not be allowed to reach the Sunwell, and the Prince broke off from the conflict, drawing some of his ghouls with him, leaving the remaining warriors to deal with the defenders as he dismounted and made his way onto the ice, walking to meet his enemy directly.

The elven king still looked young, of course, but he was clearly older than he looked. Arthas could tell by his eyes. Here was a person older that Lordaeron itself, older than Lordaeron's predecessor nation. He held his sword with clear experience. Experience, far beyond Arthas' own. He was a dangerous adversary, and Arthas relished the challenge.

Flanking his enemy was his royal guard, clad in armor, and wielding their blades, freshly bloodied from the recent battle. The sound of combat and screams could no longer be heard from the mainland. Evidently, they had been busy of late. Anasterian and Arthas were mere feet away from each other, cloaks and hair blowing in a cold northern wind. The King of the Elves looked very grave indeed.

'King Anasterian,' said Arthas with a polite nod. 'I presume you regret your lack of courtesy now?' Disproportionate retribution, was there any problem it _couldn't_ solve?

'I regret not cutting your throat when I first laid eyes upon you.' replied Anasterian simply. 'When I allowed King Terenas' son to enter my realm for safeties sake, I had hoped he might learn to be a better King from it. I never imagined that he would use what he learned to invade my Kingdom.'

'You give your people too much credit.' replied Arthas with a shrug. 'The only thing I learned while in Quel'thalas was that I was not welcome here. Perhaps if I had been a spell caster I might have had something to add. But this is all quite irrelevant.' A curiosity seized him. 'How did he die?'

'Dar'khan? I killed him.' replied Anasterian simply. 'He sabotaged our early warning systems, allowing you to enter the city without an alert going out. After that he was trying to deactivate the guardians, to take the Sunwell's energies for himself. As a researcher, he might have succeeded. However, I did not allow him.' Arthas glanced back to where the fight was still going strong. One of the Golems had been killed, and the others were damaged, but his own forces had lost many soldiers in the battle.

'Then it was you who had the ships burned.' realized Arthas 'You react quickly.'

If Anasterian had heard him, he pretended not to. 'Just as I will not allow your profane magics to defile this sacred place. Prepare to die traitor.'

There was a blur of movement, and both sides leaped into action. Anasterian struck with the blade Felo'melorn, Arthas parried with Frostmourne. The two warriors began to circle one another, blades moving at lightning fast speed. At that moment the elven royal guard and the undead of the Lich King rushed at each other and met in vicious combat.

'That's an ironic accusation,' noted Arthas as he stepped around a swipe. 'I could have sworn you abandoned Lordaeron to its fate long before I stopped being a paladin.' He stabbed forward and Anasterian knocked Frostmourne aside before pressing the attack. Back and forth and around they went, their blades flashing in the sun as each sought to overpower the other. Anasterian was more skilled, but Arthas was faster.

'I sent assistance as was warranted.' snapped Anasterian, leaping back and unleashing a barrage of fire, which Arthas counteracted using his own magic. Green and red flame met halfway and exploded into light. 'You made your own choices!'

'You are aware that a few volunteer priests do not qualify as assistance, aren't you?' asked Arthas drolly as he sent a death coil which the King halted with one upraised hand, the magic dissipated. 'If you'd actually _helped_ I probably never would have ended up becoming a death knight in the first place.' A realization suddenly dawned which made Arthas very angry for reasons he did not understand. 'None of this would have happened!' He snarled.

The undead he had brought with him were slain, their bodies lying on the ice. The royal guard had lost a few of their soldiers, but most were still alive. However, they were weary, yet not so weary that they did not begin to encircle Arthas with murderous intent. 'You are beaten.' said Anasterian in satisfaction.

'You think that killing my minions means I've lost?' asked Arthas in amusement. 'You've obviously never fought undead before.' Arthas raised Frostmourne, and the blade gleamed to life as the bodies of the strongest warriors amongst the slain arose in new life and assaulted the Royal Guard. The Elves turned to face them, yet their swords could not harm specters which beset them, all they could do is defend. 'Strange how isolationism tends to backfire spectacularly.'

'The affairs of human were never ours!' roared Anasterian, assaulting him wildly with a flurry of blows that Arthas was hard pressed to defend against. Yet at the same time, the royal guard began to die.

'And how did that enlightened foreign policy work out for you?' asked Arthas wryly despite being hard put to it to survive. 'It's funny, isn't it? You can fence yourself in all you want. But you can't fence everyone else _out._ ' He pressed back and they fought back and forth, as the royal guard died around them one by one. Their killers then faded into the embrace of death. 'Certainly, the forest trolls and goblins would agree.' He continued before suddenly Anasterian slashed him across the cheek, and Arthas flinched, narrowly turning aside a stab meant for his throat, and shoving his enemy back. He readied himself for another attack, but it did not come. Anasterian was breathing heavily. Too heavily for anyone who looked as young as he did.

Arthas realized that his enemy truly was older than he looked, and pressed the attack, slamming his blade down endlessly upon Anasterian's forcing him to back away, until finally the elf king slipped, and fell to one knee, scarcely blocking an overhead strike that sent both bases ringing. The King looked as though he could barely hold his sword in his hands, and his royal guard was dead.

That was it. Arthas was done. He could have killed the Elvish King if he desired, but he didn't feel like it. 'I am victorious.' He proclaimed simply, before turning around and beginning to make his way back to Invincible some ways off. On the Island in the distance, he could see that the undead, forest trolls, and ogres had defeated the golems and were now busy destroying the towers.

'What do you mean, you are victorious?' asked Anasterian, voice hoarse as he forced himself to stand. 'This isn't over yet!'

'Isn't it?' asked Arthas. 'You're exhausted and incapable of fighting on. Your armies are scattered and divided. Your royal guard is dead. Those who remain have their morale dropping by the minute. The High Elven Kingdom's glory has come and gone, its fire is soon to go out of the world entirely. Your vaunted Ranger Corps have failed you, and will arrive too late to make any difference.' He flourished Frostmourne, before wiping the blood from it with the corner of his cloak. 'It wouldn't be fair to continue beating your forces after this humiliation, your too weak and reliant on the humans you abandoned to do anything to make it less of a massacre. Not that there would be any entertainment in it.' He paused, and turned in full to the King and decided to be completely honest. 'You know something Anasterian. Sacking this city was easy. I came here expecting the most difficult battle of my life and what did I get? A few brief moments of resistance from the Silvermoon Guard, before I found my most difficult task was convincing the forest trolls not to kill everyone.

The only reason your species still exists is because I went out of my way to avoid destroying it.' He scoffed in disdain, as Anasterian rushed forward and brought his sword around. Frostmourne parried the strike, and the pommel of the rune blade sent the King falling to land hard on the ice, Felo'malorn spinning from his grip to halt just short of the water. 'Go sing laments for the Highborn, if you desire. I don't really care.'

Arthas made his way to Invincible, who had followed close behind, and mounted once more, before riding onwards towards Sunwell Isle. As he did so, however, he sensed a gathering of heat around him and spurred his horse forward just in time to avoid being incinerated with the flames. He pressed forward and turned to face Anasterian for a moment, where the King was standing, one hand readied. Without a word, Arthas once again turned away from him and rode the rest of the way to Quel'Danas. There he found Zul'jin waiting, his forces milling about without direction. Only a few of the undead had survived the engagement, however many of the trolls and some of the ogres had survived. The elves by all accounts dared not approach them.

'Ya should have killed him.' Zul'jin said in an almost friendly manner. 'And if ya don't, I will.'

'It's called cruel mercy Zul'jin.' said Arthas defensively. 'He will spend the rest of his life lamenting his lost golden age, and trying to rebuild it.' He stepped over the body of Dar'khan, and removed the Urn of King Terenas from his pack. 'Now if you'll excuse me, I need to make a speech.' He drove Frostmourne into the Sunwell, and suddenly he could see everything. All the High Elves who had ever lived, all the High Elves who lived now. Even the ones who had yet to live. He felt as though he was connected to the very life force of the universe, and as though it was afraid of him.

It was horrifying, and yet somehow glorious. He spoke from the heart.

* * *

Sylvanas Windrunner had been steadily encroaching upon the undead base, destroying its spirit towers, and slaying its denizens with siege equipment. They had been repulsed several times, but progress was still being made. Another assault had been launched from Silvermoon against the southern side, and she was coordinating with those forces to keep the pressure up. She fully expected, and indeed hoped, that Arthas Menethil would come riding over the western bridge to relieve his base. The force he had sent in the first place had been of insufficient power to break the legendary Silvermoon Guard, although it might have overwhelmed her own forces.

She had done some scouting around and seen his forces engaged in a vicious conflict with the forest trolls and ogres. During that engagement she almost found herself rooting for the Death Knight, for she despised such creatures with all her heart.

Doubtless, once his forces had been exhausted from battling them he would return to his base camp to replenish his forces. Clearly, this was the time to strike. If she could wipe out his Fortress now, then the undead would be adrift without a stronghold and would have to retreat. From there the high elves could focus on destroying their existing bastions, and push them out of Quel'thalas altogether.

She had to admit that she was facing an enemy with incredibly cunning. He had outmaneuvered the rangers at every turn and defeated all attempts to repulse him. Yet now things were turning against him.

Then a runner arrived from Silvermoon.

'Ranger General Sylvanas!' cried the Runner. 'Silvermoon is perishing! The undead and forest trolls have allied, and even now encroach upon the Sunwell! King Anasterian commands you pull your forces back, and drive the enemy from Silvermoon.'

Sylvanas halted in horror. Never in her darkest nightmares would she have imagined that anyone, even the undead, would ally with the forest trolls. She turned to Lor'themar. 'Gather our forces, we move to relieve Silvermoon at once-'

All of a sudden there was a connection. A dark voice in her mind and she knew by instinct that that dark voice was in the mind of every high elf in the world. Sylvanas knew who the voice was before he spoke, and trembled in terror.

Arthas Menethil addressed Quel'thalas:

'Citizens of Silvermoon! I have given you ample opportunities to surrender, but you have stubbornly refused! Know that today your entire race and your ancient heritage will end! Death itself has come to claim the high home of the Elves!

Now arise, Kel'thuzad, and serve the Lich King once again!'  
There was a transfusion of energies, and suddenly a light which Sylvanas had not known was inside her went out. She suddenly felt very empty. Very… wretched…

* * *

The ghost of Kel'thuzad entered the Sunwell. In an instant, its beacon went out. Its enemies became tainted and twisted. And from the waters into which Arthas had dropped the Urn of King Terenas, Kel'thuzad arose in a new and skeletal form. Chains were upon his wrists, and he had no legs to speak of. His head was a skull with four horns upon the face and the brow, and everything about him oozed icy magic.

Kel'thuzad spoke, not to Arthas or the trolls, but to all the acolytes who had served him and the Lich King loyally, and the words he spoke brought hope to them. 'I am reborn as promised!' The Lich proclaimed. 'The Lich King has granted me eternal life!'

'Did ya really mean all that?' asked Zul'jin in a hopeful, almost childlike tone. 'About the High Elven race ending and all?'

'Of course not.' said Arthas quickly. 'This city does not represent the entire species by any means. We have perhaps an hour before Sylvanas Windrunner and the Rangers arrive here in force. A few if she gathers reinforcements. Once they set out, they will make all haste to cut us off and kill us all.

You and your warriors had best be well away from here before that happens.'

'…Well, it be something to work for. Be seeing ya, mon.' said Zul'jin, before he and his warriors departed. It had been a good day.

Though his situation was grave, Arthas turned to Kel'thuzad with impatience. 'I've fulfilled my end of the bargain Lich. Are you ready to tell me about the Dreadlords now?' He'd wrought the downfall of two nations, it was about time he got an answer.

'Certainly,' said Kel'thuzad quickly. 'but not here, they have eyes and ears everywhere. We'll talk where it's safe.' He could wait.

Arthas halted to bring Dar'khan back from the dead, channeling power into resurrecting him as one of the Lich King's servants. As the light from Frostmourne faded Dar'khan arose and gazed at his hands in awe, his wounds healed. He looked almost exactly the same as he had been in life, save for something about his eyes. Tall, dark, and appealing to the female gaze. 'I… live once more.'

'Not quite,' said Arthas 'however I have a purpose for you. Kel'thuzad, teleport back to base.' Kel'thuzad obeyed, remaining silent.

'The Sunwell!' snapped Dar'khan suddenly. 'You promised me the Sunwell!'

'I made no such promise.' replied Arthas simply. 'And even if I had I am not in a position to grant it. Silvermoon still exists, after all, and in any case, the Sunwell is not presently usable. However, since you have been a great deal of assistance to the scourge, I have a reward of sorts for you. Kneel.'

Dar'khan kneeled hesitantly, and Arthas tapped him on both shoulders with Frostmourne. 'I, Arthas Menethil, rightful King of Lordaeron, and Death Knight of the Scourge grant you mastery over the Scourge of Quel'thalas. You will direct my forces in my absence, and ensure that the Forts do not fall to the Elves. Most of all, you are to ensure that they do not succeed in destroying your holdings in this area. If they succeed in driving the scourge out, then they will seek vengeance upon us. Do you accept this charge?'

'I do.' said Dar'khan 'My Lord Arthas, you shall not be disappointed.'

'Also,' said Arthas 'if by some chance or fate the powers of the Sunwell become accessible once more, I shall be sure to entrust you with its recovery.'

'I shall not fail you.' said Dar'khan.

'Excellent,' Said Arthas 'now if you'll excuse me, I have much work to do.'

The Scourge made its exit from Silvermoon, departing to their fortress, and Arthas and Kel'thuzad began their long journey away from Quel'thalas. They met no resistance, for the Elves seemed to have lost all heart and hope with the corruptions of their presence Sunwell. Soldier and villager alike fled before the onslaught of the dead as they returned the way they came. The land itself seemed somehow… dimmer. As though with the fall of the Sunwell the whole world had lost a light that gleamed in the darkness. They saw no more sign of the Ranger Corps, for Sylvanas Windrunner arrived in Silvermoon too late to do anything but wipe away a few forest troll stragglers who had stayed to loot and murder.

* * *

Arthas was strangely quiet, noted Kel'thuzad, and the newly created Lich found this odd. The death knight had clearly found great sport outmaneuvering and defeating the Elves. Yet now that he had done what he had set out to do, and the Sunwell was corrupted, he seemed almost somber. Perhaps a victory for him held a bitter aftertaste.

Kel'thuzad had watched Arthas as he defeated his enemies, and he knew that the Prince was going out of his way not to destroy without need. The scourge had never had such clean victories. The Lich noted several potential problems with such a policy but had no theological or moral objections to it.

His role was not strategic thinking after all.

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

This chapter was a whole lot shorter than the last one because I more or less had to cut out half the mission. Fortunately, I managed to pad it out a bit with the fight with Anasterian. Oh and yes, I made Silvermoon an anticlimax boss, and I have a good reason for it in-universe. The in-game reason is that I was playing on normal difficulty, I had been dreading this mission for the entire campaign. As it turns out, I'm **_much_** better than a normal AI, now that I've played on hard. As I result I stomped Silvermoon hard. I spared Sylvanas and didn't destroy any of Silvermoon's core buildings.

The bit with the trolls and ogres and Zul'jin was entirely spur of the moment. I noticed a mercenary encampment where you could get trolls and ogres and used it to get a vast army. I included Zul'jin as their leader, firstly because this is roughly Zul'jin's area of influence, secondly because I feel the forest trolls were really wasted, and thirdly because Zul'jin is a really cool character. I hope I didn't get him out of character, it's been a while since I read any stories with him in them.

Also, I hope I got Zul'jin's accent right. It's kind of difficult to write, to be honest.

And hey, King Anasterian Sunstrider is still alive! As if Sylvanas! And most of the High Elven race!

Whether or not they will end up regretting the fact later is still up in the air.

I really don't like this chapter as much as I liked the last one, to be honest.

And yes, I'm aware that Anasterian is much more powerful than I portrayed him as in canon. However, to be fair, Arthas is much more powerful than I portrayed him in canon. I find that characters who are invulnerable are generally boring. Consequently, both of them are very much closer to mortal than in their original characterization. Also, Anasterian is old by Elf standards. That is going to affect his ability to fight.

To be perfectly honest, I added in Anasterian simply because without him this chapter was absurdly short. He is, in essence, padding and a source of exposition for Dar'khan's activities.

Summary of my Strategy in the game:

I started out by immediately moving my forces north to fight off Sylvanas' assault. I built a whole lot of spirit towers for defense and then kept my population low while I scouted out the map with Arthas. Using the gargoyles I fended off Sylvanas' runners, and in between runners I had the gargoyles scout out the map. Then I found the mercenary camp, Guarded by trolls and ogres. I built up a large army of ghouls and crypt fiends, and bringing them to the mercenary camp I defeated the creeps, before purchasing a whole bunch of mercenaries.

I began a mass production of trolls, ogres, ghouls, and crypt fiends until I hit max population. I then took a deep breath, launched my assault, and effortlessly overwhelmed Silvermoon's defenses. I only destroyed two guard towers and brought everyone to the Sunwell Plateau. There Arthas was killed, but my mercenaries wiped out the guardians and I was able to bring Arthas around to get the Sunwell before the enemy could replace their losses.

As for Sylvanas, I simply ignored her, since the rules of this run clearly prohibit me from destroying bases unnecessarily. So yeah, Sylvanas in this timeline is still alive.

Oh and has anyone seen the TV Tropes Fanfic recs page for Warcraft? Is it just me, or is the content of that page somewhat lackluster? There are all of two things I actually liked reading. If anyone feels like a warcraft fanfic you like isn't getting enough coverage, you might want to add a link on TV Tropes if only to ensure that visiting the page is not a complete waste of time.

Also, why doesn't Uther Lightbringer have a character option on the Warcraft section?

Lastly, I have decided to dub this AU 'the Mercyverse' due to the basic concept.

See you soon!

 **EDIT:**

Okay, so I removed a bit of exposition and replaced it with a scene between Dar'khan and Arthas elaborating on just why the elves don't realize they are being invaded. I still kind of like this mission, because it gives the elves a healthy dose of humble pie which they were really asking for after pulling out of Lordaeron.


	6. The Revelation

**Chapter Six: The Revelation**

In the aftermath of the fall of Silvermoon, chaos engulfed the high elven lands. The Forest Trolls launched a new series of raids that claimed many lives. To make matters worse three new undead bastion's had sprung up over the weeks amidst the invasion. War still raged throughout the length and breadth of Quel'thalas, the High Elves found themselves seized by an inexplicable craving for something they lacked. Sorceress' found their magic more difficult to reach, and spells which before had been the essence of simplicity were now arduous matters to cast. Priests found their hold over the light weakened. Inner peace became a rare luxury. Emotions ran high, as composed individuals found themselves screaming in rage as some inner tranquility they had never known was removed from them. Lovers felt nothing for one another, as bitter enemies thought their hatred not worth the effort.

Fortunately, the vast majority of the high elven settlements had been left intact. Far fewer people had been killed by the scourge, than by the orcs in their invasion fifteen years ago. During this time the Rangers found themselves taxed to the limit, putting down a forest troll onslaught that had begun after the scourge moved on. The undead bastions stood tall and threatening still, cutting off communication between the three sections of the Kingdoms.

In this time, the villages in outer Quel'thalas could do little save hold on to their lands, cut off from the rest of their land, unaware as to how many remained alive. Farther north, the inner and middle Kingdom's were without a King. Prince Kael'thas was away in Dalaran, and their most powerful magic could not reach him. High King Anastarian meanwhile lay in a coma, looking very graceful, yet troubled. Sylvanas stared down at her King's comatose body with somber respect. 'How did this happen?' She asked suddenly.

'The Death Knight and he fought in single combat,' said the High Priest of Quel'thalas 'King Anatherian was beaten, however, Prince Arthas left him alive. When the Sunwell was corrupted he had fallen into a slumber from which he has not awakened, and none of our most powerful magic could reach him. Perhaps Prince Kael'thas may have better luck when he returns.' He looked up from the King to Sylvanas. 'Whatever the case, without a royal to lead them, the people of Quel'thalas will need someone to keep order.'

'I am no governor.' said Sylvanas quickly. She looked to Lor'themar. 'Lor'themar, will you keep control of things here until Kael'thas returns? I am needed on the front lines against our enemies.'

'I will.' said Lor'themar.

The front lines were far closer to Silvermoon than Sylvanas would have liked. Many trolls and ogres had filled the woods and sought to press their advantage. She fired more arrows than she had known existed in all the world during those days, and she hacked with her knives until their blades were utterly red. The undead were quiet initially, and when they did begin to attack, it was not with anywhere near as much coordination or cunning as before.

The traitor Dar'khan was not as skilled as his master, it would seem.

Even so, the war was against them, and Sylvanas spent weeks fighting it, scarcely having time to sleep. The woods themselves seemed to have turned neutral in affairs. Little by little, events began to take its toll on her, even as she gained back territory which had been taken. When she had a chance to rest, she often found herself sitting up awake staring at the ceiling, wanting to close her eyes and fall into oblivion, yet unable to. Not that she showed any of this to her soldiers, whom she appeared as energetic and deadly as ever.

Within, however, she felt as if an empty abyss had opened up within her heart. Sylvanas felt thin. Stretched like butter scraped over too much bread. She could feel a terrible hunger clawing at her being, tearing at her soul until she felt as if she was hollow inside. She fired arrows, and called commands, and did everything as she was supposed to. Sylvanas had always been cold and professional. Yet in her spare hours, she found herself leaning against walls in exhaustion as soon as she passed beyond the sight of her subjects. She spent hours looking into mirrors and wondering if the person she saw there was the same person who had existed weeks ago. Something, deep within her heart of hearts, was gnawing at her core.

And it was not just her. She began to receive reports from her agents in Silvermoon that a malady which no spell could treat had beset the High Elves. Men, woman, and children who had once been healthy and vibrant would have their skin and hair go pale. They would become obsessed with magical energy, and some of them became murderous. Their fingers would become claw-like, their foreheads bony, and some would have strange growths that had an eerie blue light. The sickness seemed to strike without regard to class, or place, or person. Even the most healthy could fall, victim. Surprised that Lor'themar had not mentioned it to her before, Sylvanas immediately order some of them quarantined for study.

The cell was a small affair, ten by ten feet and the suffering elf was chained to a wall. The high priest of the Light entered the cell personally to examine the subject. He was behind closed doors for hours, and there was silence. When he returned, his face was grave, and he shook his head. 'Never in all my years have I seen such a thing.' His voice was haunted. 'He is completely healthy.'

'What do you mean completely healthy?!' asked Sylvanas incredulously. 'Did you look at him?!'

'I cannot explain the changes he has gone through.' said the High Priest 'However they are not an ailment which can be corrected. The magic of the light can correct imbalances and set to rights things which should not be. However, it seems that this poor soul is in the form nature has intended. It is… an evolution.'

'Evolution?' asked Sylvanas, dumbstruck. 'Evolution improves a species! It doesn't do… that.'

'Evolution is an adaptation to one's surroundings.' replied the Priest 'For untold generations the Sunwell has been there, filling up our souls with magic. Now that power has been removed from us. It is bound to have some form of effect. Perhaps this… degeneration is one of them.'

The news worried Sylvanas, and the gnawing sensation within her grew worse. 'You've done your job.' said Sylvanas after a minute. 'Now find someone who needs your help and attend to them.'

'You look a bit pale, Ranger General.' noted the High Priest 'And your eyes are bloodshot. When was the last time you slept?'

'I'm fine.' She said quickly, before turning to her guards. 'Would someone release the wretched thing already!'

Later she would wish she had not said those words. 'Wretched' became the new word used to describe her unfortunate countrymen. As more of them appeared, they soon became the object of ridicule, and hatred, or so reports indicated. Once again Lor'themar was uncannily silent. Finally, Sylvanas resolved to see the matter for herself, and traveled alone to Silvermoon, hooded and cloaked. There she saw a man, begging on his knees before a woman as the signs of transformation took hold of him. The woman struck him across the face, sending him tumbling downstairs to the street and shut the door.

'Who was that?' She asked.

'They were husband and wife.' answered an Elf 'Then he changed.' His tone was dismissive and cold.

Sylvanas continued onwards through the streets, greatly disturbed. The scourge had barely destroyed anything on their way through. They had been entirely focused on the task at hand. Most of the damage had been done by the forest trolls, and even that had been limited by the Death Knight's insistence on going after the Sunwell. As the story went, he had pressed onward, leaving sufficiently few forces on the mainland so that the Silvermoon Guard was able to rally and defeat the invaders. As she turned a corner, she suddenly came face to face with something. Its eyes were large and peering, its skin was pale, and it reached out for her.

She recoiled and drew out her knife in one smooth movement. The wretched stepped back, cowering in fear, and Sylvanas realized it had been begging for coins. She sheathed her sword and reached into her bag, however, it turned and fled weeping into the alleyways. She looked around and saw scornful glances from the elves all around her. To them, these creatures, these people weren't even elves.

As she walked onwards, she realized that what she had seen had in no way been a unique happening. The wretched's broken pleading did not avail them as many were thrown onto the streets by their own friends and family.

'Have you heard of Lanathal?' asked a High Elven Woman of another. 'His wife turned wretched a few weeks ago, but he hasn't thrown her out or anything. Keeps trying to reach her.' Gossip mongers, how Sylvanas despised them.

'Poor fool. Nothing good will come from associating with them.' said the other. So now elves who suffered from a disease were pariahs, referred to as them.

Elsewhere, a Wretched was trying to buy food from a market. Even as he offered his gold, a crowd descended on him with clubs and fists and beat him into the ground. His coins were scattered across the ground, as he scrambled up from where he was being kicked and spat on, fleeing away. The merchant took the coins, and everyone saw and did nothing as he took up his stall. Sylvanas realized she hadn't done anything to stop him and was seized by self-hatred, she approached the stall and picked up a loaf of bread, and set it on the counter.

'Three silver milady.' said the Merchant, acting as though nothing had happened.

She purchased the bread, and trailed after the wretched, through the streets he had walked. A few streets down, Sylvanas found him dead on the ground, his blood spilling throughout the tiles. A guard had caught him, and run him through. 'Filthy, thieving wretched,' He snarled, cleaning his sword off on his victim's clothes.

She dropped the bread, and just ran, realizing that she was in shock. Even as she fled, ignoring the stares of surprise as a cloaked figure rushed by, she realized that in her silent horror she was watching as the once proud and noble race of High Elves reduced to a high-handed and cruel people who despised all save those they viewed as 'real' elves. Even as she had fought to keep them alive, her people seemed to be warped by the lack of the Sunwell.

This couldn't be it, could it? Without the Sunwell, this couldn't be all they were capable of. Had the entirety of Quel'thalas been so changed? Or was there something different about the populace of Silvermoon? Perhaps their proximity to the Sunwell had caused the change to be more pronounced. Or perhaps Silvermoon was always this horrible beneath the surface, she hadn't spent much time here before the fall. In that moment Sylvanas suddenly wished that Arthas had burned Silvermoon to the ground. Leveled everything, killed everyone here. Surely the embrace of death would have been better than this… corruption.

She clung to the hope that not everywhere was like this place, and made plans to journey north to her former base of operations to find out. As she calmed down, she reflected that the wretched were a scapegoat. People were worried and afraid because of what had happened, so they were blaming it on those who were affected worst by the loss of the Sunwell. Sylvanas took note that Lor'themar, whom she had left in charge of urban affairs, had taken no action to aid the newly named wretched. He had let people handle it themselves. Well, Sylvanas had seen how they were 'handling it.' The populace went armed everywhere. Murders happened in the streets and no one blinked.

If this persisted, the wretched would begin to fight back. It was inevitable. A civil war would happen in the heart of Quel'thalas, as their enemies closed in around them. As she was journeying through the forest, Sylvanas came across a wretched lying upon the ground. His legs had been broken, and he was whimpering. 'What happened to you?' She asked, kneeling by him, and supporting his head.

'…They cast me out… out of home…' He mewled. '…beat me… paid guard to drag out and break legs… so no one knew… their family had… had taint…' Tears fell from his eyes and he wept bitterly into her chest.

'I… I'll get a healer,' She said quietly. 'just hang on, I'll-'

The wretched head fell backward, and it lay still. He was dead. Sylvanas put the creature down gently. This had happened on her watch. ON. HER. WATCH. Yes, she had delegated authority to Lor'themar, but she hadn't done it because she thought Lor'themar could do it. She did it because she didn't want the responsibility of running things! She realized in disgust that she knew virtually nothing about Lor'themar, his character, his ideology, who his friends were or anything else. For all she knew he could be a monster in his personal life. He wasn't even her friend, just someone whose name she kept in mind so she wouldn't have to learn the names of all her soldiers. She hated talking with people, she disliked social contact. Lor'themar was as much her friend as the Death Knight was! Lor'themar was best friends with DAR'KHAN!

Sylvanas suddenly hated everything. She hated the Elves for falling so easily into barbarism when bad things happened. She hated Arthas for corrupting the Sunwell. She hated Lor'themar for allowing this to continue. But most of all she hated herself.

Picking up the wretched's corpse, she carried it through the wilds to a ranger lodge which was left untouched by the scourge invasion. She set him down before the door and entered. Finding a number of her soldiers waiting, they jumped to salute. 'Go to Silvermoon,' She told them in a deadly voice. 'get Lor'themar Theron and the highest ranking officials in the city, and bring them here to me, in chains if you have to. I would meet with them.'

'Milady,' Said the Ranger tentatively. 'night is falling. Perhaps we could arrange a meeting tomorrow-'

'Does it look like I give a damn?!' snapped Sylvanas, feeling the hollowness within her becoming ever worse. She felt as though a thousand wolves were gnawing at her internal organs, and her eyes felt strained. The rangers fled from her sight, and Sylvanas turned her attention to the body. She didn't know his name, or who his family was. Even if she did, she could hardly have given the body back to them. They clearly had wanted him to disappear. However, she could dig his grave.

It was far from the first grave she had dug. Her job was a dangerous one, and burying the fallen was a tradition of her rank, though usually, her job was merely one of oversight. At times she had involved herself in the work when labor was short. Very soon a grave had been dug, and she set the body into it, before gradually filling it in. When she was done, she patted down the turf with a shovel. The grave would go unmarked.

Lor'themar Theron and the other officials arrived sometime later. Sylvanas did not bother to change. Her breeches were stained at the knees with dirt, her hair was ragged and she was soaked with sweat. Her eyes pierced them each in turn as they were forced into their seats as the High Elves stood guard.

'You've been lax in your duties, gentlemen,' said Sylvanas to them. 'an epidemic breaks out in the city, murders occur in the streets, guards commit brutality against citizens without punishment, and you people have done nothing to control any of it!' She broke a yell as she spoke and slammed one fist on the hard oaken table, which shook, and found herself breathing heavily. Sylvanas was very tired indeed, all of sudden. 'I realize that keeping public order in urban areas is not my job as we've set things up, but I was under the impression that it involved something beyond resigned inaction.'

No one had the guts to disagree with her. Lor'themar remained silent, as all eyes turned to him for answers. The silver-haired high elf had thus far been the one everyone had been looking to for answers. 'In truth,' he said eventually. 'I was reluctant to solve the problem in the only way I saw. Certain… actions should never have to be used. However, in light of the desperate situation, I am prepared to enact a final solution to deal with the wretched.'

Final solution? This boded poorly. 'Well, what is it?' asked Sylvanas, willing to give anything a chance.

'While the vast majority of our forces are occupied with the trolls and undead,' said Lor'themar 'most of the high elves remaining have at least some skill with arms. Moreover, with many sections of the city decimated and looted, unemployment is high, which means that making a living for many people has become increasingly difficult. With the recent defeats by the scourge, a scapegoat might do much to alleviate poor morale.'

'I don't see what any of this has to do with the wretched.' replied Sylvanas, beginning to see, but wanting to give him the benefit of the doubt.

'It is simple.' Said Lor'themar 'We will place a bounty on the heads of wretched. In this manner, we can mobilize the High Elven citizenry against the animals, and wipe them out. At the same time, those participating in this purge will gain valuable experience for later wars.'

Sylvanas couldn't believe her ears. 'Am I to understand, that your plan for dealing with a population of our citizens being cast into the street, and forced in their desperation to commit crimes is ethnic cleansing!?' She asked, mixing horror with outrage. 'These are our people! Not some group of forest trolls who need to be exterminated! They are elves!'

'Recent research,' an elven magician to one side moved to correct her. 'indicates that the wretched are a result of high elves failing to control their base instincts after the fall of the Sunwell. They are responsible for their transformation, and cannot be considered real people, so much as beasts with a remnant of intelligence. Moreover, the transformation is physical in nature. It seems highly illogical to refer to them as elves any more, or at least not as high elves.'

'It is necessary,' argued Lor'themar 'to purge those who succumb. Once the bloodlines have been purified, future generations will be increasingly less susceptible to the transformation. Above all, it is essential that the wretched not be allowed to reproduce, so that their taint will not spread.'

It was amazing how you could work with someone for years without knowing a thing about them, reflected Sylvanas, and suddenly she started laughing for the first time since she remembered. Laughing and laughing at nothing in particular, before stopping suddenly. 'You, Lor'themar are, without a doubt, the worst leader the high elves have ever had the displeasure of serving under.' said Sylvanas calmly. 'You are both discharged from your posts.'

'You can't just-' began Lor'themar.

'I just did.' she replied.

'I am a civil servant,' objected the Magician 'and not subject to-'

Sylvanas' knife came to his throat. 'Silence.' He shut up. She withdrew and turned to the others. 'This is how this is going to go. Those of you who still hold public offices are going to return to them, and follow my directives. From this point forward, if it was ever not the case, the wretched are citizens. They possessed all the rights and responsibilities which that entails. If one is accused of murder, I expect there to be a trial. If one of them is killed, I expect there to be inquiries.

If a high elf dies, and his next of kin is a wretched, I expect them to inherit. And if you do not follow my instructions in this regard, I will personally take the Rangers into Silvermoon and execute every last one of you.'

'When the Prince returns,' said a Magician 'you will regret this course of action.'

'I sincerely doubt it.' replied Sylvanas 'Until then, I want the Priests of the Light to make every effort to aid the suffering of the wretched, and try to find a cure.'

'As you wish, milady.' said the High Priest of the Light, who was annoyed at the late hour, but understood of the gravity of the situation.

The meeting ended after that, and to Sylvanas' satisfaction things improved. There were still attacks, by both parties, but now that those attacks were punished, and the wretched were being treated with a shred of decency, things were improving. She set out for the settlement north of Silvermoon.

There she found that there were proportionately fewer wretched, and those who did exist had been treated with as much kindness and understanding as was possible. Most of them had been assigned to manual labor and simple tasks which were difficult to screw up. They were a truly pitiful sight, but at the very least they were kept useful and cared for. One such wretched hacked at a pile of wood with an axe, seeking to split it into small enough pieces for firewood.

Sylvanus found her forces waiting for her arrival. They saluted. 'At ease, rangers.' said Sylvanas motioning with one hand. 'We will head into the middle kingdom of Quel'thalas, and rally the forces in that region against the undead. Our objective is to contain them, however, if we can we will seek to destroy their bastion in the region. Let's move out!'

Sylvanas and he forces rushed away, springing through the trees and over the broken pieces of the third elf gate. There were goblin zeppelins waiting to carry them across the river, towards their holdings. The lack of a land passage with which to attack their enemies had forced an odd sort of stalemate upon them, which profited the Goblins immensely as they traded with both sides. Yet Sylvanas dared not have the bridge rebuilt, for that would allow the undead a land route into Quel'thalas.

Even so, the river was sinking lower, and soon it would be possible to cross it without a bridge. It was not a day she was looking forward to. As they boarded the zeppelin, the winds picked up and sent Sylvanas' hair flying in front of her face. It was then that Sylvanas noticed something very strange, and very disturbing. A single lock of her long golden hair flew before her eyes and had turned corpse white. She suddenly felt the hollow feeling within her only growing worse. A terrible sense of foreboding beset her, as she remembered the pale-haired wretched hacking at wood with an axe…

* * *

Death Knight and Lich left Quel'thalas behind them via teleport, and three days later, somewhere in the wintery peaks of the Alterac Mountains Arthas Menethil and Kel'thuzad made their way through a path strewn on either side with the mutilated corpses of the dead. They had left most of their forces behind in Quel'thalas, and those they commanded here had been raised in closer realms. He was in the company of an entirely different set of necromancers and acolytes now, and somehow it seemed very important.

As the sun set upon the frozen lands, the ghouls were having a feast, and Arthas could sense their joy at the carnage all around them. It was like bread and circuses for the wretched creatures. Yet this was not Arthas' doing. This was the work of the Blackrock Orcs, who dwelled here, and they had turned the place into a hell of corpses and blood, made from the bodies of the people of Alterac. The same people who were their allies against the Alliance. Arthas found himself disgusted with them and returned his focus to other matters.

Arthas greatly desired to learn from Kel'thuzad that which the Lich had thus far only alluded to in cryptic warnings. As he rode past the lane of corpses, by now well used to the stench of death that followed him everywhere in the form of his army, he wondered how to broach the subject with his one-time nemesis? 'So, your not upset about me killing you that one time?' He asked.

'Don't be foolish.' said Kel'thuzad smoothly. 'The Lich King told me how our encounter would end.'

Arthas did a double take. 'The Lich King knew that I would kill you?' He asked, incredulous, yet somehow knowing it to be the truth.

'Of course.' said the Lich 'He chose you to be his champion long before the scourge even began.'

'If he's so all-knowing, then how can the Dreadlords control him like they do?' asked Arthas, for the first time unsure of himself. For he had not been consulted in this matter. It disturbed him. Had he ever had a choice in what he was to become? Or had the Lich King merely known what his choices would be? Did it even matter?

'They are agents of the ones who created our master:' replied Kel'thuzad 'the fiery Lords of the Burning Legion.'

'What is this Legion?' asked Arthas, eager to learn more, yet dreading the answers he might hear. They came to a high place, which overlooked the lands beyond, all covered in the snows. Many evergreen trees swayed in wicked winds, placed upon the ground, and on the cliffs. Wolves were rushing through the trees. While he had been fighting in Quel'thalas, fall had turned to winter, covering all the land in ice. It seemed somehow an appropriate setting for such conversations.

'It is a vast demonic army that has consumed countless worlds beyond our own.' replied the Lich 'Now it comes to set this world to the flame. Our master was created to pave the way for its arrival. The dreadlords were sent to make sure that he succeeded.'

Everything was falling into place, and Arthas did not like the picture resulting. 'So the plague in Lordaeron, the citadels in Northrend, the corrupting of the Sunwell, it was all just to prepare for some huge demonic invasion?' Some part of him was filled with horror, another part hesitated, and a third part was filled with a dark jealousy like that of some Warlock who has found his power long exceeded. He was suddenly very glad that he had spared who he could.

'Yes,' said Kel'thuzad 'in time you will find that our entire history has been shaped by the coming conflict. Now come, we have much work to do.' A wolf howled in the night sky, as the sun set at last, and the cold grew ever colder.

* * *

The next morning on the outskirts of the Blackrock Clan village, Arthas prepared his forces for battle. Even so, the Blackrock Clan's village was more five villages, each one separated into a different faction with its own strengths and weaknesses. In truth, it was more of a different Horde. Despite himself, he was somewhat dreading the coming conflict.

On a rocky outcropping overlooking his base, he and Kel'thuzad spoke in private. 'Isn't it time you told me about the second phase of the plan, Lich?'

'Certainly,' said Kel'thuzad 'the first phase of the plan was to eliminate any group which might resist the Legions arrival.'

'Like the forces of Lordaeron' noted Arthas 'and the High Elves.' Well, this was going to be an awkward meeting. Tichondrius probably should have been more specific in his instructions.

'Precisely,' said Kel'thuzad 'the second phase of the plan was to actually summon the Demon Lord who will spark the invasion.' He turned and began making his way down the path to the base. Arthas followed him, leading Invincible behind him.

'So where are we going now?' asked Arthas, feeling he had already guessed.

'There is a nearby functional Demon Gate, guarded by a group of Blackrock Orcs.' explained Kel'thuzad 'I must use the gate to commune with the Demon Lord and receive his instructions.' That was all Arthas needed to hear.

During their conversation, Arthas had felt a terrible rage growing within him, and something else… regret perhaps? Shame? Despair? Grief? Pity? There were a myriad of emotions bubbling beneath the surface within Frostmourne. He could not feel them, but he could tell they were there. He had kept them alive, he realized, as he kept his enemies alive. The flame of light within his soul had not been snuffed out. Yet his soul was not his own.

Arthas might have been very powerful now, yet he realized now that he had almost no free will. After he had taken up Frostmourne he had never once questioned the instructions he'd been given, it went against his nature. He merely obeyed them and interpreted them. What did he want? What, if anything, at this point would Arthas desire if he could have anything?

On the one side, he had the Alliance, who wanted his head more than anything else. On the other he had the Legion, pressing him to annihilate all life. Yet there was no choice between them. There had never been. He'd taken up Frostmourne meaning to save his people, and now he was on the council of their enemies. The exact moment of transition escaped. Little by little, he had stopped caring about just about everything until he had killed Mal'ganis and then turned on his Father. And for what?

More than anything he wanted an alternative to what was happening now. He had no choice of course. All he could do at the moment was follow his instructions, for his will was still bound to the Lich King, and he firmly believed that if he were to defy him directly he would lose. Even if he didn't, the undead would turn on him and he would be hunted down, whether by the alliance, or the undead. No, he had no option but to follow orders to their letter right now. They were well past the point where he had a choice.

'These orcs should be natural allies,' he realized out loud. 'they had the chance to stop worshipping demons when the others did and they turned it down. By all rights, they should be wanting working side by side with us.' He tried to keep the revulsion out of his voice.

'The end times which these creatures have awaited are nigh,' stated Kel'thuzad in a musing tone. 'they were correct after a fashion.'

The idea filled the young death knight with revulsion. 'Uther dismissed their prophecies as the delusions of a dying breed,' reflected Arthas as he looked back to where the corpses of countless innocents lay. 'it would seem he was wrong.' His mind turned back to Strahnbrad, and the horrifying slaughter which had occurred there. 'Whatever the case, the orcs will not live long enough to see their hopes realized.'

'That is a wise plan.' said Kel'thuzad 'If they survive, they will declare their allegiance to the Burning Legion as soon as they entered the world. It is to our benefit to remain indispensable.'

Whispers from his runeblade filled Arthas' thoughts. Oddly enough, the voices from Frostmourne were tentatively suggesting restraint, as if the Lich King would prefer the orcs be spared. He could probably just wipe out the Blackrock Warlocks and their guards, and the rest would disperse. Arthas brushed it off, and for the first time embraced Frostmourne itself. The Blackrock Clan would not benefit from Arthas' actions.

They traveled onward through the snows, making their way past an icy cold lake. Suddenly there was a beating of wings that could only belong to one entity, and Arthas looked up, scanning the skies for a dragon. He saw one, but not quite a dragon. The beast had tattered wings and was more a skeleton than any creature of flesh and blood. It was undead, an undead dragon that radiated cold. Arthas stood in awe as the massive beast flew into the camp. It was magnificent!

'Behold, the Frostwyrm!' said Kel'thuzad, voice proud. 'These undead dragons are the Lich King's favored pets. This one shall serve us well.'

Arthas put out one hand and called the dragon to him. The creature landed before him, and he messaged its nose experimentally. Its breath was icy cold, and he looked in awe at the creature. It was far larger than Searinox had been, he knew that much.

At that moment there came a war cry, and orcs rushed over the hill on wolf back, followed by warlocks who hurled fiery spells into the midsts of the undead's ranks, slaying many. Arthas mounted Invincible and rallied his forces into a charge as he met a raider in battle. He cleaved through the orc's sword and beheaded him, as Invincible caved his mounts skull in with one hoof. The Frostwyrm took to flight and breathed ice down upon their enemies, chilling a cluster of orcs to death in moments, before snatching up a warlock in its maw and devouring it. Fresh blood coursed from its ribcage as the orc's body was reduced to a skeleton in moments.

Even so, the orcs fought on with reckless abandon, the warriors and warlocks descended with fury unending. They had not abandoned the Demons for the weak spirits! They had stayed true to their heritage! And they would be rewarded!

'The Legion has sent the dead to test us!' cried a Warlock as he threw a fireball at a ghoul, consuming it. 'Victory to the Blackrock Clan!' Arthas sent a death coil that slew him and several others, even as the orcs and ghouls tore at each other, leaving vicious wounds. Both sides suffered casualties, until an orc Blademaster entered the fray, suddenly splitting into many mirror images, even as he split the skulls of many ghouls who stood in his way.

'We Orcs are the true servants of the Burning Legions!' proclaimed the Blademaster as the undead searched in vain for his real self, and died in droves. 'These mindless undead are weak!' One of the mirror images beheaded a ghoul. 'Impure!' A ghoul was carved down by the same image, and Arthas knew it to be the real one. He charged to meet the Blademaster in battle, but Kel'thuzad was faster.

The Lich waved a hand, and ice consumed the Blademaster, crawling slowly up his legs, until he was frozen in place, his chest bared. 'Your people failed their task, savage.' said Kel'thuzad as he approached, the ghouls turning the tide against the orcs. 'You too must be scourged from the world.' And with that Kel'thuzad drove one clawed hand through the Blademasters chest and out the other side. Blood dripped from the claw-like fingers, as the blade master gasped in pain. Kel'thuzad drew out his hand, and the ice shattered and he fell down upon the ground neck. The orcs were swept away, and in the fray Arthas saw a book fall from the blademasters pack. Stooping low in his saddle he snatched it up and turned round to approach Kel'thuzad. The book was red and clearly had something special about it.

'He dropped a large tome.' noted Arthas 'Is it magical?'

The Lich took the book in hand and began to examine it. Flipping through the pages, he scanned through its letters and finally closed it again, before handing it back to Arthas. 'It is a tome of Demon Lore.' replied Kel'thuzad. 'No doubt his comrades carry it as well.'

'I've encountered these demon worshipping orcs before.' said Arthas, remembering his time with Uther. 'How do they fit into all this?'

'That, young one,' Said Kel'thuzad with a touch of amusement 'is a very complicated matter. Suffice to say they no longer hold any favor with the Legion.'

Soon the scourge faced threats from the north, as a force of orange-clad orcs charged down out of the hills and assaulted their fortress. However Arthas had arranged spirit towers, and the defenses held until he and his forces could come to the rescue. After a brief combat, the orcs were defeated and slaughtered to the last man. These orcs did not fight like the elves, who frequently assaulted, only to withdraw when things became hopeless. The orcs fought with everything they had until every one of them was dead.

Once they had been defeated, Arthas directed his gargoyles north, seeing through their eyes. It seemed that a nest of Red Dragons had made their home in those parts, and Arthas reflected that their bodies could be made into Frostwyrms. Yet he refrained from it. The Red Dragons were renowned as guardians of life and had not made any move of aggression against the scourge as of yet. Which was… a bit ironic, however, the point was that he had plenty of corpses to draw on already. The Blackrock Clan had left a swath of destruction behind them and set out their bodies for all to see.

'Begin resurrecting the corpses of those the Blackrock Clan has slain.' said Arthas quickly to an acolyte. 'We'll bury them with the sins of their own past. Then we'll bring them back.'

'Yes, master.' said the acolyte.

The number of skilled necromancers had been badly depleted during the assault upon Quel'thalas. Those who remained would be responsible for training a new generation of acolytes into Necromancers. Meaning that Arthas was unwilling to use them more than necessary in combat.

Arthas mentally reached out and sent his gargoyles to scout to the west. He knew that to the north, and likely the east he was facing Orc encampments. To the south, there were only bodies. However, there remained one direction he had not yet checked. Not to his great surprise, Arthas found that the Orcs had a village there. It was guarded by Towers, where peons waited with bows for any to come within range. Several groups of grunts stood guard as well.

'Tell me, Kel'thuzad,' said Arthas 'why did you feel the need to build a camp where the orcs can attack us from literally every direction?'

'Simple enough,' said Kel'thuzad 'the only way out of this place that has not been snowed in with the Alterac winter is the way we came in. We can withdraw, should the battle prove too much for us. However, the other passes out of this section of mountains are covered in snow. There will be no escaping us.'

'To surmise your defense,' said Arthas in amusement. 'we're not trapped in here with them. They're trapped in here with us.'

'Of course,' replied the Lich.

Arthas did not respond, instead of summoning the frostwyrm and the totality of his current forces and calling them to follow him. They traveled west, passing two bridges on the way until they came to the town. Here Arthas halted his forces just out of bowshot and brought up his meat wagons to begin shelling the defenses. The first tower fell beneath the barrage, but at that moment a warning was sounded throughout the village, and the orcs rushed out to meet them.

There was a pitched battle before the remaining tower, whose occupants fired arrows into the fray as the meat wagons shelled it. Just as it was about to fall down, several grunts fell upon the cultists manning the devices and hacked them down, before destroying the meat wagons themselves. They were slain soon after, torn to bloody shreds by the ghouls, many of whom had been formed from the bodies of their victims.

There was a delicious irony in using the corpses of wicked creatures making against them, reflected Arthas as he ordered a charge to finish the last tower. Once more they were met by resistance from a blademaster and his warriors. The combat raged, and after a lengthy combat, the blademaster was cut down. A tower some ways behind the barracks began to assault them, and Arthas pressed forward and began to destroy it.

Jungle trolls came out, hurling spears at the undead and spearing several ghouls to death. Yet in return, the frostwyrm claimed many of them, only for a lucky throw to catch the beast through the eye as it passed low. It roared and fell down dead near the ground.

Angered by the death of his frostwyrm, Arthas moved his forces forward en masse, and in his wrath tore down the tower, before turning his attention to the barracks. Destroying it was very difficult, for many warriors had taken shelter within it. They put out the blazes Arthas lit, as trolls hurled spears through arrow slits. When doors were smashed down, they found barricades waiting. Finally, after an exhaustive effort, the undead stoked the barracks into a raging inferno, killing all within.

They then turned their attention to the great hall, which they leveled with far greater ease. As they were doing so, Arthas had to redirect some of his forces away from the pig farms, where most of the population were hiding. The peons were little more than slaves to the Blackrock Clan. There was no point in punishing them for their leader's sins. Finally, the great hall was consumed in flames, and Arthas led his much-diminished forces back to base.

He found that several enemy raids had taken place during his absence, led by ogres and orcs. They had destroyed several ziggurats, however, the ghouls had driven them back, and even now the buildings were being replaced.

One village down, four to go.

'Death Knight,' said one of the crypt fiends 'our scouts have discovered numbers of nests of the red dragon flight in the hills above. If we were to slay them, their corpses would make excellent Frostwyrms.'

Arthas looked at the crypt fiend, and Frostmourne was urging him to do as suggested. 'Lead me to them.'

A small party of undead made their way north and came within sight of a cave leading into the side of the hill. From the cave was rising a constant fume of smoke, and Arthas halted there. 'Stay here,' he commanded his crypt fiends. 'I will go on alone.' Dismounting from Invincible he made his way to the mouth of the cave, more than large enough to admit a large creature with wings. Though not one as large as some adult dragons Arthas had seen.

He crept slowly down into the caves, ignoring the fumes and came to a corner. Looking around the corner, he saw a Mother Red Dragon, nursing a group of hatchlings. Some of the older hatchlings were flying about, speaking enthusiastically in their own language. Had he seen it when he was a Paladin, it might have been almost heartwarming. This was nothing like the den which he had journeyed into to slay Searinox, all those years ago, filled with freshly torn corpses and a smell of darkness. Morbidly Arthas reflected that his own base camp more closely resembled Searinox lair now, then anything he had aspired to when he was growing up.

He made his way out of the cave and reached his crypt fiends. 'We will leave the red dragon flight in peace. So long as they do not assault us, we will not assault them.'

To his pleasure, Arthas found that in the fighting Kel'thuzad had retrieved yet another book from the corpse of the blademaster. He did not have much time to celebrate, however, for suddenly there was an earthshaking bang, and an ungodly light and the spirit towers on the eastern section of the base were consumed in flames and utterly wrecked. Orcs streamed down from the highlands, and the battle began. For word had been brought to the blackrock clan of their villages fall, and in wrath they had made an alliance with a group of goblins, whose sappers had detonated the towers.

Even as Arthas and Kel'thuzad defeated the orcs to the east, they were drawn to the northern section of the base where catapults were launching projectiles from the hilltops, smashing the spirit towers from afar as the grunts and raiders rushed into the base. Arthas cut them off, and strove to fight his way through the orc forces to destroy the catapults. Yet no sooner had he accomplished that, he found that all but one of the spirit towers had been destroyed. Like rats, a force of goblins had dug beneath the defense line, and blown themselves up to leave the base virtually undefended. Once more he was drawn to the east to fend off another assault, and it seemed as though for every undead he raised, the blackrock clan killed one of his warriors so that his forces never made progress.

Finally, there came a lull in the assaults, and Arthas led his forces east towards the southeastern Blackrock village. Like the other, this village possessed a tower defense line. However this time Arthas lacked a Frostwyrm or meat wagons. The ghouls bravely charged the defenses, meaning to tear them apart by hand, only to meet the blackrock warriors in battle. The combat waged back and forth, with many deaths on both sides and no clear superior. However, after a day of futile battling outside of the tower defense line, the army was left depleted and exhausted. Arthas was forced to withdraw to camp, fearing that the orcs would assault while he was away. As night fell, he resolved to do better in the morning.

* * *

This was going to be a bloody fight. The core problem was that with the multitude of ravines and hills in these lands, his forces could not easily move, while the orcs could come from anywhere. Their goblin allies ensured that the orcs could destroy any permanent fortifications Arthas erected to stop them, which in turn meant he had to keep a significant garrison behind at his base to defend against the enemies assaults.

His corpses might have been practically limitless, but there was a limit to how many undead he could control at once, and a limit to how many corpses the Acolytes could raise into undeath. On and on the attacks went, and Arthas found himself forced to make risk expansions into adjourning territories in order to support the defense of his primary base.

Moreover, his assaults had to be perfectly timed, for if he attacked an enemy village, and the enemy arrived while he was occupied there he would swiftly have to withdraw. By the time he returned to finish the job they would have repaired any damages he inflicted. It was a maddening frustrating affair, so much so that he several times considered withdrawing entirely from the area.

Yet he was resolved to carry on with the destruction of these orcs. His scouts had reported that Strahnbrad had recently been heavily fortified by retreating Alliance Soldiers, but he doubted they possessed the weapons or experience to hold the town against a determined assault by these creatures, and without the Paladins there would be little hope of survival.

No, these orcs had to be stopped.

Which was why he risked everything in a bold assault upon the eastern village. The towers held his forces at bay with countless arrows, as the blackrock warriors rallied to meet them in battle. Arthas led the charge himself, and their armies met once more in a titanic clash, with ghouls slashing limbs as grunts caved skulls with their might axes. Arthas beheaded a troll as he drew back a spear to throw, then plunged his sword into an orc warlock, before sending a death coil to slay another. During the bloodshed, one of the towers fell. Yet Arthas' forces were dwindling rapidly, and he realized that if things continued, they would lose outright.

'Pull back!' He called 'Retreat to the camp! Lich, cover our retreat!'

Kel'thuzad nodded as the warriors withdrew. Arthas stayed behind, waiting as Kel'thuzad sent a burst of ice amidst the Blackrock Warriors as they pursued. The freezing power slowed their approach, and slew many of the front ranks the Lich turned to retreat. Arthas followed behind him, and they reached the bastion.

It proved very fortunate that they had saved what was left of their army, for almost as soon as they returned the Blackrock Clan came rushing from the various villages. After much bloodshed, they drove them off, but there were many casualties. Finally, as the corpses were dragged away by acolytes for use in the making of new soldiers, the Death Knight approached his compatriot.

'This isn't working, Lich.' said Arthas openly. 'We need a new strategy.'

'And what would you suggest, Death Knight?' asked Kel'thuzad.

'Its obvious that we cannot defeat these Orcs with ghouls, and our necromancers are too few in number to risk.' said Arthas, cleaning the blood from his sword with a ragged cloth. 'And I believe its your turn to make a suggestion.'

'We might use meat wagons.' noted Kel'thuzad. 'To shell the enemy fortifications, before moving in to finish off the defenders.'

'That would take too long.' replied Arthas 'We'd come under attack before we could finish, and anyway. I don't like using meat wagons, their… messy.' He recalled their assaults on the elves against orders. 'What of frostwyrms? Are there are any more of those we could access?'

'Certainly,' said Kel'thuzad 'however it will take us some time to draw them to us.'

'Then we must hold this position until they arrive.' decided Arthas 'Once we have a sufficient force of them, we'll sweep over these Orcs like a great flood.'

'Be warned,' said Kel'thuzad 'frostwyrms are an arduous creature to control.'

It was an arduous process indeed, for the frostwyrms arrived one at a time, flying leisurely through the highlands to arrive at their bastion. Each time they did, Arthas felt a mental pressure descend on his mind, greater and greater. The beasts had a powerful will, far beyond that of ghouls or crypt fiends. They were a genuine struggle to control.

Suddenly there was a sound like near thunder, an explosion of bright light which engulfed the eastern section of the base. The ground shook with it, and Arthas looked up. 'What the hell?!'

The Spirit Towers were in ashes, his Graveyard had been blown to bit by Goblin charges. Even now a vast tide of orcs were rushing over the ruins to assault his forces. 'To me my warriors!' called Arthas 'We must drive the orcs back!' His numbers few, but Arthas burned with a terrible determination as he rushed at his enemies ahead of the line and with a single stroke of Frostmourne slew five orcish warriors. As the rest of his warriors arrived he hacked and slashed with Frostmourne endlessly, wetting the blade until it was stained red with the blood of his enemies. Kel'thuzad burned them with frost and sent death magics surging to tear at their souls and bodies. When the dust at last settled, Arthas found himself giving new commands, almost without thinking. 'Build the spirit towers closer to the necropolis.' He said to the acolytes. 'Make their ranges of fire overlap.'

'You mean to give ground to these savages?' asked Kel'thuzad calmly.

'Loath though I am to do so,' said Arthas 'we have too much ground to cover, and too few troops to cover it in. This way we will be able to support both fronts with greater ease.'

For days the battle stretched onward, as the blackrock orcs pressed his forces with endless raids so that Arthas at several points felt they would surely be overwhelmed. It was here that the newly arrived frostwyrms showed their worth, for Arthas soon discovered that a few of them could dive over the enemy forces and burn them with ice endlessly, without fear of reprisal. Most of the blackrock orcs wielded melee weapons, and though a few frostwyrms were dragged down by nets from raiders, the orcs were unable to slay any. For the frostwyrms were just as deadly on the ground as they were in the air, and their hide was as hard as any dragons.

Little by little the frostwyrm's numbers increased and it became steadily easier to defend from the assaults. The wings of the undead dragons beat the air like thunder. The ground shook beneath the rumor of the mustering host which even now assembled within the skies above Lordaeron. Peons looked up with faces pale, the warriors they heard the tramp of doom. The air itself seemed to be filled with ice. Finally, no Orc dared approach the encampment of the scourge at all.

And yet Arthas did not yet unleash the full might of the scourge. He was waiting for something, something that even he was unsure of. It came to him when a Frostwyrm landed upon the roof of the Necropolis to stare down at him questioningly. It wanted to be unleashed. Arthas smiled, and threw back his heavy violet cloak, as another presence took hold of him, not entirely his own.

'Yes, my pet…' He said in a soothing tone, which was most certainly not his own. 'It's your turn now.'

The frostwyrm roared in triumph, and flew into the skies above, rallying its fellows as it descended upon the eastern village with wrath blazing. Arthas pursued them, dark joy welling up within him like an endless fountain as he saw them lay waste to the Orcs, their icy breath consuming all who opposed him. Their hurled spears availed them not, as the Blackrock Warriors encampment was laid to waste. That finished, Arthas directed them north to the Blackrock Slavers. The slavers were used to soft targets unable to defend themselves, and were helpless before frostwyrms wrath! Their hero was slain in moments, as their buildings were torn to shreds by the claws. The tome of Demon Lore was retrieved. The peons fled in terror into their homes, which went untouched by the will of the death knight who commanded them. Arthas paused to snatch up a book which had fallen from the enemy farseer, set it into his pack, then continued pursuing his frostwyrms who now headed north.

The Northwest village was the next to fall. The orcs were helpless before the onslaught of the flight of dragons as he lay waste to their best defenses and slew their warriors with ease. A farseer sent lightning bolts hurtling through the air to strike the dragons, who shrugged it off and froze him to death with an onslaught of their breath. However one of his dragons began to suffer injury, Arthas healed it with a death coil, restoring its strength with unholy energy. At last the enemy were utterly overthrown.

For Arthas, the affair was a blur, and he had difficulty distinguishing individual events. The thing which stuck in his memory was that as they were heading to the northwest village, a red dragon hatchling, lusting for glory had flown out from its cave and rushed at the frostwyrms. Arthas tried to direct the beasts to ignore the creature, and move on, yet his command was crushed down by some other force and the beast was slain. Its little wings were frozen solid, and it collapse to the ground dead.

He did not resurrect it, instead, he pressed onwards.

On some level, as the Northwest village was slaughtered, he became aware that he was taking entirely too much enjoyment out of this. On the other hand, he had a flight of frostwyrms!

The stronghold was frozen solid, so that all within it were chilled to death, then broken to a thousand splinters. The barracks suffered a similar fate. The spirits lodges were torn to pieces and those within them devoured. The bestiary, where the raiders kept their wolves had the top torn from it, and the creatures within fled in terror. None escaped, however, for the wolves were snatched up from the ground and devoured by the frostwyrms, and their bodies decayed to skeletons as their blood poured down from the undead dragons ribcages, terrifying those who remained into a frenzied retreat. Arthas retrieved the tome of demon lore and halted as the battle finished, breathing heavily as he realized that only one place remained for him to conquer.

The bastion of the Blackrock Warlocks, which stood above him at the top of the mountain. As the presence which had possessed him fled from Arthas' mind, he realized Kel'thuzad was staring at him in bemusement. Which was rather impressive, since the Lich did not have eyeballs. 'What is it now?' snapped Arthas, feeling defensive.

'...I can't say that wasn't an effective strategy.' said Kel'thuzad after a moment. 'Yet was summoning an entire flight of Frostwyrm's truly necessary for victory?'

'It worked didn't it?' asked Arthas without apology.

All of a sudden a feeling of alarm beset them, and Arthas turned and saw far below at the base of the hills his camp under assault by a host of red dragons, and beneath them were the warriors of the Blackrock Clan. Already the spirit towers which had been set as a defense were failing! 'Quickly Lich,' said Arthas 'we must defend our camp! Back my servants! Return to the camp!'

They descended the mountain with all the haste they could muster, the sound of the frostwyrms beating wings all around them. The spirit towers had done their work well against the orcs, for many of the warlocks guard had been killed in the charge. Yet the dragons were pressing against his forces, having laid to waste the weakened defenses with fire as hot as the flames of hell. They belched fire and turned the defenders to ashes, who were helpless to assail them. Cursing that he had not brought crypt fiends with him, Arthas realized that had absolutely no idea what was going on.

Oh, the situation was plain enough, but that didn't actually explain anything. There was simply no context for the supposedly good aligned red dragon flight to be defending these beasts. It simply didn't make sense. Unless… the hatchling! Over a single one of their children, killed in self-defense the entire flight had gone on the warpath!

As he and his forces reached the camp, the orcs were all dead. Yet the dragons remained and even now were assailing the Halls of the Dead, their breath consuming masonry and burned infernal statues to cinder. Gesturing with Frostmourne in a motion that symbolized the will of the Lich King, Arthas sent the frostwyrms rushing towards their living counterparts en masse. The red dragons swerved away from their siege and rushed to meet the undead flight in battle. A symphony of frost and flame ensued as living and undead tore at each other with claws, and breathed their own brands of death against one another. The red dragons were larger and stronger, yet the frostwyrms were more numerous, and during their brutal combat, the dragons were eventually overwhelmed. The ice of the Lich King quenched the Red Dragon Flight.

During this time, a disturbing thought made itself into his head. Arthas turned to Kel'thuzad. 'The red dragons are guardians of all life, correct?'

'So Kirin Tor research would indicate.' said Kel'thuzad, who was not particularly interested in the subject.

'And they are only now getting involved?' asked Arthas in disbelief. 'If I were in charge of this flight I would have involved myself, I don't know… when I was killing all the Paladins. That seems a distinctly more worthy faction to defend than these wretches!' He was surprised at how much emotion was raised on the subject. 'On second thought I would have gotten involved the moment a plague of undeath was sweeping across Lordaeron. How many problems would they have solved if they had just incinerated Mal'ganis mid-sentence at Stratholme? If they had, Lordaeron would still be intact, you'd still be dead, and I'd probably be married to Jaina!' He halted as he realized what he had just said. Memories which had thought long since suppressed welled up in his heart, however, he shook them off. There was no time for this. He realized he had said it in the tone of voice he had used as a Paladin. A tone he never used anymore.

Kel'thuzad himself seemed shocked by this outburst, though he swiftly recovered. 'You are not wrong Death Knight.' he admitted 'And in truth, similar observations are precisely why I choose to serve the Lich King. It became apparent to me over the course of my studies that the self-proclaimed 'guardians' of this world are little more than milestones around the neck of more traditional political entities.

The Alliance was forced to go out of its way to free Alexstrasza from the orcs, and how does she repay them? By aiding the same orcs, long after the alliance which helped her has lost most of its greatest heroes. How is it that the Lich King forthrightly proclaims himself to mankind, granting him power and immortality in exchange for service, while the so-called guardian races remain on high, abandoning their supposed subjects?' He paused. 'It is simple. They are not gods at all, but parasites wrapped in fair forms.'

Arthas was suddenly aware that the acolytes had gathered, and were observing their conversation with interest. Somehow he was certain someone was writing all this down. 'I think I may be giving Alexstrasza too much credit.' He said after a moment. 'I'm assuming that she really is what she claims to be, an all loving benevolent deity who cares about everyone. The dragons only involved themselves once we brought in frostwyrms, so I have a different theory: Like the elves, they did not view the scourge as any threat, and couldn't care less what occurred in Lordaeron. Once we brought in frostwyrms however, they realized that we could easily wipe them out once all mortals fell. So they hastily made an alliance with the Blackrock Clan, and tried to stop us here.'

'That is pure speculation.' noted Kel'thuzad 'It is possible we have interfered with entirely unrelated machinations. Or perhaps their alliance with the orcs was purely to avenge the youth the frostwyrms slew. Yet I take your point. We must finish making an example of these orcs.'

'As you say, Lich.' agreed Arthas, before raising his sword. Frostmourne flickered with a pale light, and the red dragon's corpses suddenly shuddered. They shed their scales and flesh and arose as skeletal creatures, their eyes consumed and replaced with blue bonfires as they arose to serve the Lich King.

Nothing made one more motivated to destroy than the knowledge that the benevolent forces of the universe were little more than self-righteous hypocrites, no better than the dark masters one served. At least the Lich King kept his promises to loyal subjects. Yet as Arthas led the swarms of Dragons up through the hills, he found that when a group of red dragon hatchlings appeared to harass them, Arthas had his forces pay them no mind and press on. After a brief pursuit, the Hatchlings gave up the chase and returned to their mother. The scourge pressed onwards, ever higher, the air became thinner and colder around them, until at l, st they came to the Warlock's Bastion.

'This camp guards the demon gate.' said Kel'thuzad to him. 'Defeat these orcs quickly so that I can contact demon lord.'

'Understood.' said Arthas.

Yet even as the destruction of the blackrock villages had become routine, it was here that for the first time the frostwyrms were given pause. The enemy were bolstered by Red Dragons, who flew to meet the frostwyrms in battle, even as raiders hurled nets which dragged them down to earth, and several of the undead dragons were slain. Arthas himself came to blows with the Orc Chieftan, a red skinned orc covered in eldritch tattoos. Their swords clashed and spun, fighting back and forth endlessly, their swords a blur, until finally Arthas ran him through. Yet the orcs slashed Arthas across the chest, and he recoiled, before pulling out his sword and beheading him. He was bleeding copiously, and his limbs felt weak.

His wounds would heal in time. Yet he was too weak to fight, and some of the frostwyrms were looking ragged. Arrows and spears filled the sky.

'Pull back!' He snapped to Kel'thuzad. 'We'll regroup and try again later!'

He snatched up the tome the Chieftan had left, and they fled. Yet the retreat was followed, and many blackrock warriors chased them down the hill with weapons ready. Yet the frostwyrms turned around and froze them dead where they stood, now that they had left the protection of their subordinates. Arthas raised his sword and began to channel commands, calling forth a great host of ghouls and skeletons who had been summoned below. They came climbing up the slopes, ignoring the harassment from the red dragons and Arthas watched in satisfaction, as his wounds recovered with an unnatural swiftness. Even the armor which had been broken was mending.

'Do you believe our next assault will be successful?' asked Kel'thuzad.

'I believe so, Lich.' said Arthas 'The problem with our last attack was that the Frostwyrms were the only target. Now with a host of lesser undead to act as shock troops it should be easier.' They saw no sign of a counterattack as they waited. It took perhaps an hour to assemble his forces, during which the Blackrock Orcs prepared themselves on the village above.

Finally all his warriors had been arrayed before them. Arthas called out to them:

'Forward my warriors! Let none stand against you!' called Arthas 'Wipe these orcs from the face of Azeroth!'

The undead army rushed with all their speed up the slops, and descended upon the orcish defenses. The orc warriors and warlocks rushed to meet them, supported by trolls and dragons, who swooped into battle. For a few terrible minutes the enemy held them at bay. Warlocks cast profane magics into the midsts of their forces. Arrow were shot, and spears hurled that killed ghouls by the dozens. Orcish warriors hewed with their axes to destroy skeletons, as red dragons met their undead foe once again in the skies above. A frostwyrm and a red dragon clawed at each other in their, their breath fighting against one another as both plummeted to earth. A tower was uprooted by a frostwyrm, who hurled it to knock over a second one. Ghouls dragged down orcish warriors and devoured their flesh, as Kel'thuzad wielded frost and dark flame in a deadly symphony that slew many.

Such was the fury of the combat, that even after the lines were broken the orcs continued to fight, as reinforcements arrived from elsewhere to aid them. The battle was drawn into the center of the town. On and on it waged, no quarter asked or given. Arthas cut a swath through dozens of orcs, dodging and weaving through their lines, Frostmourne cleaving skulls and piercing hearts. His unholy magics killed many who were faraway, as he carved a swath through the enemy, and led his forces to glorious victory. Finally, every last warrior within the village was dead.

Yet it did not stop there, though Arthas would have preferred as much.

A red dragon roost was found overturned, and the creatures within destroyed. Arthas had wanted to spare them, and yet by some machination of fate he could not. The matter was out of his hands as the undead were directed by a force other than him. Arthas wanted to spare the peons who hid within their homes. Yet he could not. It was simply beyond his ability to refuse as he found himself slaughtering them all to the last man woman and child. An infants screams were cut off abruptly, and he found himself once more reliving memories of Stratholme. He realized as the bloodshed continued that he had come full circle.

He began by fighting orcs in defense of the innocent, and now he was slaughtering those among them who were innocent. Of course on some level he realized that the other villages had gone largely untouched, only their warriors had been slain. Yet as a mother begged before him, her child in her arms he found himself cutting her down without a word. It was not within his power to grant mercy here.

It was a profoundly bitter pill to swallow, though he could not feel grief. Finally his sword fell for the last time. 'The orcs have been slain.' He said, voice cold and sardonic. 'The Demon Gate is yours Lich.'

Kel'thuzad did not answer. The two of them made their way from their forces to stand before the Demon Gate. It was indeed an impressive structure towering over the landscape with green flames endlessly flickering before it. Many glowing green runes were upon its red and black surface, projecting an unworldly light. Arthas halted some ways back, as Kel'thuzad approached the gate and raised his clawed hands in supplication and worship. 'I call upon thee, Archimond!' Proclaimed Kel'thuzad 'Your humble servant seeks an audience.'

Within the flames now appeared a Demon, though he was not like Mal'ganis. Mal'ganis had been horrifying to behold, and held tremendous power of his own. Yet comparing him to Archimond was like comparing a fly to a horse. Archimond looked closer to human, yet his skin was blue, and a number of tentacles fell from his chin. He was clad in golden armor that showed his muscular frame, and his every fiber radiated power. His eyes were as deep as the abyss, and he spoke in a voice of command. 'You called my name, puny Lich.' Said Archimond 'and I have come. You are Kel'thuzad, are you not?' He did not pay Arthas a glance.

'Yes, great one,' said Kel'thuzad, worship in his voice. 'I am the summoner.'

'Very well then,' said Archimond 'there is a special tome you must find… the only remaining spell book of Medivh, the Last Guardian. Only his lost incantations are powerful enough to bring me into your world.'

'Where should we search for it, great one?' asked Kel'thuzad.

'Seek out the mortal city of Dalaran.' replied Archimond 'It is there that the tome is kept. At twilight, three days from now, you will begin the summoning.' Then there was a rising of flame, and he was gone from sight. The portal faded into nothingness. The runes light was extinguished as Arthas realized what was happening.

Prince Arthas Menethil would be returning to Dalaran at long last. This time with an army at his back. He almost wished that some spirit was here to make mocking commentary to him, to confront him with how far he had fallen. Yet none appeared, for he'd left Sylvanas Windrunner and her forces alive in Quel'thalas. He just hoped he wouldn't have to face Jaina while he was there.

'Old memories?' asked Kel'thuzad suddenly.

'Yes,' said Arthas 'how did you know?'

'I have them as well.' replied Kel'thuzad. 'I learned in Dalaran as a boy.' His voice became lower. 'I taught in Dalaran as a master. Then I was banished for necromancy.' For a moment he seemed distant, before he roused himself. 'Now, it seems, we shall destroy it together.'

'I might be able to avert that.' said Arthas quietly.

'You might at that,' noted Kel'thuzad 'but it doesn't really matter. Our course is set.'

They spoke no more words during the journey. They left behind them the ruins of the once proud Blackrock Clan, and as the flames climbed high into the night, the news was heard throughout the land that the last remnants of the Old Horde had been swept away.

No one mourned their loss.

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

Well that's that.

I gotta say, I never intended for Sylvanas' part of the story to take up so much space. Part of the problem is that because Arthas' never killed and rezzed her, there is the matter of just what she is doing in the meantime. The most likely answer is fighting the undead remnants. Oh, and Lor'themar gets fired. Horay!

I gotta say, I hate Lor'themar. Mostly because Kael'thas was my favorite character in Frozen Throne. My viewpoint is that Lor'themar actually murdered Kael'thas to seize power, and that everything else is Blood Elf propaganda. After all, Lor'themar is basically a nazi, running a totalitarian state where everyone who dissents is either murdered or 'reeducated.' So yeah, I hate the guy.

As for the whole thing with the wretched, when I briefly played WoW, it was mostly as either a blood elf or a human. During my time playing blood elf, I was struck by the sheer monstrous lack of sympathy for the wretched. Yes, they raid, and attack people, but only because they are effectively cast out of house and home, and left to fend for themselves in a wasteland while suffering from horrible cravings driving them to madness. The blood elves continually commit ethnic cleansing against them, and we're supposed to view them as the bad guys? The wretched are basically addicts who have been consumed by their addiction. In the words of Abraham Lincoln the addict should be regarded with pity, not contempt and hatred. Though admittedly he was speaking about alcohol, not magic. The point still stands.

Which brings me to one of the reasons I despise both the Alliance and Horde. The Alliance and Horde began as organizations formed to oppose each other. However at this point in the timeline they only exist to make warfare for its own sake, and commit genocide against everyone whose not a member nation. Frankly the Lich King is looking pretty good in comparison. At least he's honest about it, and he treats his subordinates with more respect than either faction. Just compare Jaina's treatment, to Kel'thuzad's. One is a valued subordinate who enjoys a personal friendship with the King himself for services rendered. The other has the entire world conspire to emotionally torture her because she dares to suggest that anyone might try to solve their problems without violence. And then as soon as she finally comes around to the 'wipe out all the orcs' view, the Alliance does a complete 180 on her.

Seriously, screw the Alliance, and screw the Horde. Go Illidari! Go Undead Scourge! You are the only people who actually get stuff done.

Just for the record, my actual game was a bit different from this:

I played the game on hard mode, and managed to early on destroy an enemy base, being careful to only spare the Pig Farms. However I quickly got bogged down with enemy attacks, and eventually opted for a full Dragon Rush. And it worked out pretty well. The thing which I left out was that I made periodic halts to regenerate my health at the base, before going out to attack the Orcs. However for the sake of the scene, I cut those waiting periods.

…Honestly, I regard this as my worst chapter yet, as well as the longest. Unfortunate combination that. I was seriously reluctant to post it, so much so that I stalled my normal update schedule. Even so, I felt if I cancelled it at this point I'd never finish the fic. Tell me what you think.

 **EDIT:**

Went through things and increased the flow a bit. I'm thinking about turning this into two chapters, but I'm not sure I have the mental energy to completely restructure the fic for that purpose.


	7. The Siege of Dalaran

**Chapter Seven: The Siege of Dalaran**

The mages of Dalaran had not been idle. The Wizards had spent the better part of months preparing for the incursion of the scourge, and when it finally came they were not caught unprepared. Their finest sorcerers had been observing the undead via scrying orb and watched their darkest councils. Now they knew that Arthas Menethil was their enemy. They knew he served a greater power, and that he had resurrected Kel'thuzad in its name. They knew the greater power was an agent of the same demons who had sent the orcs to Azeroth. And they knew that the key to all their schemes was the book of Medivh. They were determined that the traitor Kel'thuzad would not lay hands upon it.  
The Citystate of Dalaran was home to some of the most powerful sorcerers in the world, however, they had few, if any, standing militia forces. Unfortunately for the scourge, they also had many mages who could teleport. As a result, they could find mercenaries from buyers markets from all over the world with ease, and with the prosperity of the city, they had money to spare. Lord Antonidas sent them far and wide, to gather forces in preparation for the grim day that the undead would arrive. At the same time, he sent messages to all the old allies, requesting their aid in halting the advance of the scourge. Antonidas was not to be disappointed, for across the other alliance nations knights and footmen, thirsting for glory buckled on their armor and sharpened their swords to fight the enemy. Whole contingents of Dwarven Riflemen volunteered to join the fight against the nemesis of the Alliance.  
It had gradually circulated that the new enemy of the Alliance was none other that Prince Arthas himself, and that he had slain his Father and killed the Paladins. The result was an outpouring of wrath that came with such furious numbers that the Kirin Tor could not at one time teleport all the volunteers. Stormwind meanwhile, had finally put down the gnoll uprising and was sending one of its best tacticians alongside a large detachment of knights, though the bulk of their forces could not attend.  
Had Antonidas but a week, he would have made the city truly impenetrable. Yet he did not have a week. He had a day, and in that day he gathered a mighty army unto itself. Yet somewhere, deep in his heart, the old wizard had the feeling that no force on Azeroth could stop the mustering that now took place. He wondered how Jaina was fairing? She had departed soon after Arthas had on his journey of vengeance, taking with her countless people who had lost their homes and needed new land. With all the blighted areas, there was no land to be had. Many adventurers, Paladins, Mages, and others had gone with her, lusting for adventure.  
Somehow, Antonidas doubted he would ever find out.

* * *

It took the Peons well into the night hours and beyond before they were willing to creep out from their hovels to see the aftermath of the cataclysmic battle between the Blackrock Clan and the Undead Scourge. The Warriors had spoken endlessly of how the Legion would return soon, and every enemy they faced they viewed as a challenge from the Legion. They had raided the nearby town of Strahnbrad for the Legion. They had died in droves against the Prince of the Humans for the Legion.  
Now all the warriors in this region were dead. With no one to direct them, the Peons gathered together and discussed what they had to do. 'We must go to one of the other villages near here,' said the Peon Chieftan 'and put ourselves at the Chieftain's service.' The Peons, being the lowest and weakest of the Orcs, fit only for building the halls and farming the food the true Orcs, the warriors ate, had their own hierarchy. Only the village chieftain was permitted to speak with the Warriors, while the others were expected to attend when they called for food.  
'Couldn't we just stay here and farm without them?' asked a child.  
'No,' said the Peon Chieftain 'if we do that the Warlocks will accuse us of betraying the Horde, and they will kill us all. We are not valuable enough to spare. We must demonstrate our complete submission to the will of the Blackrock Clan.'  
So it was that they picked their way through the highlands, and as they walked discussions were made regarding who had seen what during the battle. 'The Death Knight who led them,' said a Female Orc. 'I know him.'  
'You don't know him.' laughed the Peon Chieftan goodnaturedly. 'We're Peons, we don't know anything.' The Peon Chieftan was a staunch believer in the ways things were.  
'I saw him.' maintained the Female Orc. 'Remember, I was part of a village we set up north of here near Strahnbrad.'  
'Just because you started in that village doesn't mean your not part of ours.' maintained the Peon Chieftain reassuringly. 'We take care of our own.'  
'I didn't start in that village.' said the Female Peon 'I was forced to help build it so the warriors could capture slaves to sacrifice. And I'm telling you I saw the Death Knight before.'  
'But I thought the village was sacked by a Paladin,' said the Chief curiously.  
'I think he was a Paladin then,' said the Female Peon 'and is a Death Knight now. And he didn't sack the village. I mean not the entire village. He only killed the warriors and burned down the halls they forced us to build for them. Good riddance.'  
'So they destroyed part of our village, then.' surmised the Peon Chief.  
'Yes,' said the Female Peon 'he destroyed the warriors, but let the Peons live. We had to make our way back home by ourselves with all our livestock, of course, but we were allowed to live. Then he comes out of nowhere again, and does the same thing to the Warriors of the village again.'  
The Peon Chieftan stopped and looked at her seriously. 'You don't suppose he has it out for us, do you? I'd hate to think that we'd done something to anger the Legion.'

'No, I think he has it out for the warriors.' said the Female Peon. 'I think they killed a whole lot of his peons, the human ones, what do they called them?'  
'Peasants,' suggested the Chieftan, a slightly dreamy tone coming to his voice. 'I used to wish I was one of those you know. Of course, then I would have to worry about the warriors hacking me to pieces.'

'Not anymore I think,' said the Female Peon 'their all dead.'  
The Chieftain looked like he was about to have a heart attack. 'Not so loud!' he said 'If they hear you, then they will think we're planning a revolt, and they'll beat us, and gouge out our eyes and kill us, resurrect us as zombies and then beat us again. The Warlocks are always watching.'  
They walked in silence for a time, until they came to another village. There they found a number of Peons wandering about, unsure of themselves. They looked up and ran and greeted them kindly. 'Are you from the warriors?' They asked quickly. 'Have they called us to do some task for them? Do they need food or another hall or-'  
'Actually, we come from the Blackrock Scouts. Our warriors were all killed by a Death Knight.' said the Peon Chieftain 'We were looking for some more in the hopes of being given instructions.'  
'Hello!' came a call from the North, and they looked to see a white-clad orc approaching them. He was from the Blackrock Slavers. 'I've been sent from the Peon Village some ways southeast of here. All our warriors have been wiped out, and we're looking for the others.'  
Astounding! In just a few days most of the warriors had been wiped out! The Chieftain would be jumping for joy, but that would be treason. He mastered himself and said. 'The Orc Warlocks are above us to the north, and no one from those villages has come here. Let us climb the mountain and see what we may find.'  
After some discussion, all of the Peons decided that this was an excellent idea, and made their way slowly to the highest point on the mountain, where the Warlocks held sway with their dragon pets. Yet there was nothing there. The snows had covered over whatever wreckage had remained of the Blackrock Warlocks, leaving only empty space, and pine trees, and the Demon Gate. The Peons stepped slowly forward, as it dawned on them that they were truly alone.  
Without the warriors who would direct them to build buildings over absurdly short time spans? Who would take all the best food for themselves and leave those who raised it to starve when rations were short? Who would beat them for being lazy, when the beater had never worked a day in his life? Who would brutally sacrifice them when slaves were in short supply?  
It was right about this point that the Peons realized that they really were better off without the warriors for the most part. Of course, there was still the matter of defense, but they were decent shots with bows, and fair at hurling spears within the cover of their burrows. Besides, most of the threats which had beset them had been a direct result of the warriors attacking people and bringing the wrath of the surrounding lands upon them.  
Now the only question that remained was how to properly thank their savior?  
'Do you suppose we should pledge loyalty to him?' asked the Peon Chieftan 'Or just erect a sixty-foot statue of him on horseback?'  
'The statue sounds nice.' said another 'But what will we make it out of?'  
'We could always take that Demon Gate apart,' suggested the Peon 'a chaps liable to get hurt near those flames. Then we can use the materials to assemble our statue.'  
Overall the plans for a sixty-foot statue were put on hold, and eventually, it was reduced to a twelve-foot statue on the heights of the mountain. Fortunately, some of their craftsmen had very good memories, so they made an excellent likeness of the Death Knight. They didn't end up using pieces of the Demon Gate, instead, they merely disassembled it and buried the pieces. As the weeks and eventually, years passed it soon became apparent that the Warriors had needed them far more than they had needed the warriors. There were occasional raids by groups of Ice Trolls who had gone mostly untouched by the undead, but the Peons hurled spears from their burrows in their own defense, and so kept their lands secure from raiders. Over time the Peons forged a new civilization in that region, which was far less aggressive and unpleasant than that which had proceeded it. Eventually, they made contact with the newly founded Kingdom of Strahnbrad, and after some initially tense negotiations, trade was established between the two, setting the stage for a peaceful friendship which would last well over the next hundred years. And of course once the Peons were no longer consistently malnorished, and terrified for their lives, their children began to become taller and taller.

Very soon they were nearly as big as the warriors had been, though less interested in violence and war so much as simple pleasures and trade. Like Strahnbrad, the scourge did not reach them again.

* * *

The next morning, at the gates of Dalaran the scourge assembled in great lines before the city-state of such terrible beauty. It's towering spires were a marvel to gaze on, its ivory colored walls were a wonder to look over. The Violet Citidel could be seen rising high over the whole of Dalaran, where the Council of the Six made their home. The lands surrounding Dalaran were green, and beautiful, tended to by gardeners who worked plants with a magic that allowed them to grow far greener and more beautiful than should be naturally possible. It was a truly wondrous place, comparable to Quel'thalas, yet where Quel'thalas had never changed, Dalaran had always been improving.  
Now a patch of that endless green had now been marred, as the undead assembled in great force before the walls. Arthas stood at the head of the formation, his white hair flowing around him as Frostmourne gleamed in anticipation for the coming battle. For his part, the memory of the Blackrock woman and children was still upon his mind, and Arthas was determined that Dalaran should not suffer a similar fate. He rode forth, and at his side was Kel'thuzad. The gates were shut tight, but Lord Antonidas appeared before them, the flag of parley held aloft by a Knight who stood aside him.  
'Mages of the Kirin Tor!' proclaimed Arthas 'I am Arthas, first of the Lich King's Death Knights!' His voice came clean and clear over the walls and into the darkest depths of Dalaran's dungeons. 'I demand that you open your gates and surrender to the might of the scourge! Do so, and you will be spared! Fail, and you will suffer the wrath of the Lich King!' As he listened to his voice, he realized it held a note of inner conflict he felt. The fact irritated him, for his inner conflict was largely irrelevant. He couldn't turn away at this point, even if he wanted to.  
Antonidas rode forward from the gates, staff in hand and met him, the Knights following him. The old man was seated on a white horse, and his white beard was down to his belt. His flowing white garments were a stark contrast to Arthas' black and violet, and he looked at Arthas with a disdainful countenance, his staff gripped in hand.  
'Greetings Prince Arthas,' He said with a magnanimous voice of mocking welcome. 'how fairs your noble Father?'

Pangs of remorse and pain plagued Arthas, as he tried to hide them in his expression. Visions of happy times spent in the company of Jaina, and others, even Kael'thas, he tried to shrug them away. However, they would not depart his mind. A presence took hold in the back of his mind, and his doubts vanished. His expression had only changed for a single moment, and yet he knew by Antonidas' face that it had not gone unnoticed.

'Lord Antonidas,' said Arthas 'there's no need to be snide.'

'We've prepared for you're coming, Arthas.' said Antonidas without missing a beat. 'My brethren and I have erected barriers that will destroy any undead to enter into them.' The Archmage motioned with his staff, and suddenly a barrier of sparkling blue appeared, that hurt the eyes to look too hard at. The undead recoiled from it, reluctant to cross over into the barrier for fear of what might happen within.

'Your petty magics will not stop me, Antonidas.' replied Arthas, stating a fact. It was an impressive defense, but it would not avail him before the power of the scourge.  
'Pull your troops back or we will be forced to unleash our full powers against you!' proclaimed Antonidas in return. 'Make your choice, Death Knight.' He said in a graver tone, before raising his staff. There was a phasing of blue magic, as he and his Knights were teleported behind the walls.  
Make his choice? What choice? At what point during any of this nonsense had Arthas been given a choice about any of this? There was his decision to invade Northrend and take up Frostmourne, but everything after those had been nothing but following orders with no alternative presented. Somehow Arthas doubted that he could disobey said orders, even if he wanted to. And it wasn't as if the Alliance had gone out of its way to offer him the hand of redemption at any point during this campaign. One halfhearted formality by Gavinrad had been the extent of the last second chances now. Even Uther had made no attempt to sway him from his dark path, although admittedly Arthas had just killed quite a number of his friends. Really his only choices were in how he conducted his campaign, not what the campaign had consisted of.  
A nagging urge fell upon him to mismanage things, to deliberately engineer the scourge's defeat here, and destroy his own army came upon him. He felt a sense of unease coming from Frostmourne, or the creature behind Frostmourne, and he realized that this was well within his power to do. And then what? The questioned begged itself, and Arthas reflected that he and everyone who worked for him would probably die.  
Even assuming he had no loyalty to his subordinates, Arthas did not want to die.  
Arthas shoved such thoughts from his mind and rode forward and put one hand through the barrier. His hand was suddenly filled with a terrible pain, and he drew it back swiftly. The flesh on the hand was smoking and took awhile to heal. Kel'thuzad spoke behind him. 'I sense that three separate wizards are maintaining these auras. If we find them and kill them, the aura will disperse.'  
'You seem remarkably composed,' noted Arthas, annoyed by his inner conflict. 'considering that a man who was once your 'dearest friend' didn't even recognize you.'  
'He recognized me, Death Knight.' replied Kel'thuzad simply. 'Be assured of that.'  
'And that's all you have to say on the subject?' asked Arthas, surprised that the Lich would pass up an opportunity to talk.  
'Antonidas betrayed me,' replied Kel'thuzad simply 'he exiled me from the Kirin Tor for research which pales in comparison to some of the horrors they have created in this place. It was a purely political action, I was a scapegoat to cover for the Kirin Tor's excesses. You have only seen the beautiful side of Dalaran during your courting of that little minx Proudmoore-'  
'Have a care, Lich.' Arthas warned him, voice colder than he could possibly imagine. 'You go too far.'  
'There are experiments in this place which would chill you to the bone, Death Knight.' continued Kel'thuzad evenly 'The only difference between the mages of the Kirin Tor and the Undead Scourge is that we have begun to mass produce our abominations, while theirs are merely sadistic side projects, perpetuated for the sake of idle fancies.  
I shall enjoy this.' From the sounds of his voice, the Lich had only just come to that realization himself.  
The conversation ended there, and Arthas turned to ride to where the acolytes had been pushing a number of meat wagons to the front lines. They had been found shelling a village, and Arthas had ordered them to pull back before they could completely destroy it. 'Your will, master.' said their Leader, sensing his eyes upon him.  
'Take your meat wagons to the front,' said Arthas 'and bring their defenses down.' Upon the wall, many shining small towers stood ready to hurl bolts of energy down upon any assaulting enemy. They were elegant and beautiful, finely crafted by magically skilled engineers, it was a shame that they were also a threat.  
The meat wagons were shoved gradually forward, and when they were at last in place unleashed a barrage of countless missiles over the walls. Again and again, the onslaught of corpses and stones continued, and the sound of their launching continue for over an hour. Arthas could see many Dwarvish riflemen ducking for cover on the walls, as the sickening assault continued. As the enemy was preoccupied hiding for their lives, Arthas turned to his host of ghouls. 'My warriors! Fell trees and create battering rams! Cast down their vaunted gates!' The Ghouls turned and began hacking and tearing at the trees, and when they fell they began tearing off branches and leaves until they had thick poles of wood. Attaching handles to them, the ghouls brought the Rams forward, through the auras. Their flesh was singed and blackened by the spells of the Kirin Tor, and several fell dead. Yet they pressed on regardless of casualties, and with a mighty heave smashed the rams against the gates. Then again, and again, and with each blow the gates shook. Yet the aura continued to burn them, and several brave dwarven riflemen rushed into the midsts of the barrage to fire down upon them from the gatehouse. Many ghouls fell as the smell of burning corpses spread everywhere. Yet each time a ghoul fell, more would take its place, and the gate became twisted and battered. Finally, with a final smash, the gates collapsed!

As they swung open, falling off their hinges and splintering. The ghouls rushed forward through the aura and were slaughtered by the hundreds. A force of dwarven riflemen had set up a defense line supported by magicians and fired such a barrage of bullets and spells that everything which came within range of them died. Behind them, the first wizard could be seen maintaining the first aura. Arthas observed all this, somewhat perplexed. He realized that though Dalaran did not have much in the way of militia to defend their magicians, they had survived through the centuries via a series of powerful alliances. Here it was no different. Arthas was facing mercenaries from other realms, whom the Kirin Tor had hired to bolster their forces.  
More to the point, mere minutes into the siege and Arthas had lost vast quantities of ghouls. He would need to change strategies. 'Ghouls are too fragile to be used against these auras,' He said evenly 'and the necromancers skeletons would be all but useless. We will need a different sort of warrior.'  
'I may have a solution.' said Kel'thuzad 'It has taken my brethren in the Cult of the Damned some time, however, we now stand ready once more to use abominations against our enemies.' Lumbering forwards came a large force of ogre-like beasts, sewn together from different corpses. Arthas felt memories of Harthglen and Anderhol go through his mind and shrugged them away. As before, the abominations wielded giant cleavers, and sickles and axes. An aura of plague was around them, and undead flies bit at them while buzzing without end.  
'I remember those.' said Arthas. It was not a pleasant memory. Even one of the creatures often took dozens of men to bring down. 'We'll try them.'

Mentally rallying the abominations, he led them over the bridge into Dalaran. As soon as Arthas entered the barrier he felt a pain, different in nature from the light. It was burning him from the inside, and Frostmourne itself seemed to have its power disrupted. Its gleam was lessened, and every waking moment was agonizing for Arthas as the dark energies within him were turned against him. Even so, he pressed on and led his forces in a charge upon the rifle position. Many of the abominations fell dead before an onslaught of bullets, even as the line was slowed by the magics of the Elven mages behind it. Yet their numbers were many, and they pressed on.

Arthas remembered when his position was on the opposite side of such a situation, even as the abominations reached the line, and tore it to pieces with vicious strikes that hewed dwarves and elves alike in half without relent. Those who evaded the choppers choked and were seized by spasms as the plague affected them. The wizard turned from his incantations and focused upon the abominations, throwing fire and ice at them, and several more fell before they finished off the last of their enemies.  
Arthas rode towards the wizard, ducked under a fire bolt, and brought round Frostmourne to behead the wizard with one stroke. As the wizard's headless corpse fell from his horse, which neighed in terror and fled, the aura faded away and Arthas let loose a breath he did not know he had been holding. The pain receded, a sweet release from the pain which had been inflicted on him and his forces. Gathering his abominations, he pressed on into the city and came to a series of canals.

Near the edge of those canals, he saw a number of cages, guarded by a force of footmen and sorcerers. On his command, the abominations surged forward and tore the defenders apart like a scythe through wheat. Kel'thuzad, who had thus far been silent, spoke. 'The Kirin Tor keeps these creatures caged for study.' The Lich stated. 'If they were to be released, they would cause our enemies a great deal of pain.'  
'Break them open.' said Arthas, eager to return the favor of the auras. 'Do you actually feel anything?'  
'It is agonizing,' said Kel'thuzad calmly. 'you are spared some of the pain because your body would be capable of supporting itself without the magic of undeath. For my part, I rely on it to continue living.'  
'Ah,' said Arthas.  
The cages were broken open, and within they found several rock golems, who Arthas found he could command much like one commanded the dead. He had them fall in with his forces before leading his forces east towards the Kirin Tor's base of operations, near the canals. There he encountered an extensive force of riflemen and footmen, supported by priests and two towers. The ensuing melee lasted a long time, and during it many on both sides were slain. Arthas killed a group of priests with a death coil, and hacked down three knights from the saddle, as Kel'thuzad sent terrible magics of decay upon the rear of the enemy forces.

Frostmourne cleaved down six more footmen in the ensuing battle, as Arthas rode back and forth, supporting his warriors. The screams of the dying and the moans of destroyed undead were everywhere, as the stench of death pervaded the beautifully tiled streets. Blood flowed into the canals, staining the waters red. Finally, the abominations broke through the defensive line and laid to waste the towers Kel'thuzad had weakened.

Yet there was no time to celebrate, for even as they triumphed a fresh force of knights and footmen arrived, and Arthas called to his forces. 'Pull back to the siege works! Quickly!'  
The undead assault force retreated, now but a fraction of what they had been when he launched the assault. The enemy, fortunately, did not press their advantage. Arthas supposed he could continue launching such attacks, and hope by pure brute force to overwhelm his enemies. Yet that would require a lengthy bloodbath, and he was not certain that the scourge's numbers would hold out for it. Already they had taken significant casualties in their assaults, and they were less than halfway through the city streets.  
It would have been his preference to enter the city swiftly and retrieve the Book of Medivh without the hassle of conquering all resistance. Yet so long as the barrier held, such a task would be monumentally difficult. 'This isn't working, Kel'thuzad.' He said finally. 'Our abominations alone cannot break through to the enemy, and our lesser forces are too weak to stand the power of those auras.'  
'Fear not, Death Knight.' replied Kel'thuzad 'a new force is on its way.'  
'Well, where are they?' asked Arthas, annoyed that this had not come to him first.  
'We are here, great King.' said a Lamentable voice, and Arthas glanced up to see the spirits of beautiful elven maids before him, their spectral hair flowing around them, though it did not hide their beauty. 'Bid us do as you will.'  
'Gladly I will, ladies.' said Arthas, nodding respectfully as he sheathed Frostmourne. 'However, where have you come from?'  
'We are… a gift,' Their Leader said 'a gift from Dar'khan, Lord of Quel'thalas. He sends us to you with his compliments.'  
'I am grateful for your assistance.' Said Arthas politely. 'However, I would know how you propose to break through the barrier.'  
'The barrier only harms creatures of undeath.' said the Leader mournfully. 'However, we possess the power to enter the living and control them in your name. Bid us do so, and we may seize control of your enemies as you desire.'  
The idea made Arthas somewhat uncomfortable, really. In a way, that was what had happened to him. Yet he realized at this point that their options were few and that they needed to gain a victory here, now more than ever. Frostmourne seemed to think it would be an excellent idea, primarily because it wanted to control a force of Knights like in the old days. It would be nostalgic, of course, but Arthas still didn't like the idea.

'That won't be necessary,' He found himself saying quickly. 'remain here and guard the camp.' He glanced to the acolytes. 'Bring up more abominations, we'll press the assault.'  
'Didn't you just say that an abomination assault wasn't working?' asked Kel'thuzad pointedly. 'It may be wise to change strategies, Death Knight.'  
'Do as I command, Lich.' replied Arthas simply.  
The battle group did not go entirely unchanged, for when he departed with the newly assembled force, he took with him the rock golems he had freed from prison, and made his way through conquered lands to finish what he had started. They mad their way through the streets, as citizens cowered within their homes, and finally came to the site of the Kirin Tor's defenses.  
The second attack upon the Kirin Tor was only a little less vicious than the first. Even so, Arthas and his abominations held the advantage, and whenever an abomination began to falter, Arthas would use a death coil to heal their wounds. Kel'thuzad sent frost and death magic everywhere, slaying many enemies wherever he met them.

The second defense was not as strong as the first, and as the urban combat progressed deeper into the city streets, Arthas was able to put more of his focus keeping his soldiers from targeting noncombatants. When some of those noncombatants formed into a militia and began to attack them, he released his forces from their restraint, so far as the militia was concerned. Even so, Arthas was pleased to note that he hadn't had anywhere near as much trouble during the siege stopping his forces from butchering civilians. It seemed that the undead scourge was being taught a measure of restraint. Next up were concepts like justice and mercy, but that was for later.  
Although all the guard towers were cast down, and the military centers were laid to waste, the Temples to the Light were left standing, just as Arthas had left the farms outside Dalaran standing, and unmolested. The population centers were avoided. The workshops of skilled artisans he left untouched. Several times he encountered forces of the Alliance who remained in remote corners of the city and made no move to assault him. These he left to their own devices, having no desire to strike without need.  
Even so, the battle was brutal and lasted hours more. His forces steadily advanced through the streets, until they reached the canals. All the bridges had been cast down, forcing them to wade on foot through the crystal clear waters, which were fortunately low this time of year.

To make matters worse, the auras had resumed their effect, and Arthas moved inwards only to find that towers had been erected to halt his advance. The abominations fell upon them and tore them down with ruthless efficiency. Once they had been cleared away, he pulled his forces back from the aura and paused for a time, waiting for the reinforcements to catch up. It proved good that they had done this, for as they waited they came under heavy assault by many Knights on horseback who crashed against them with cries of 'for the Alliance!' on their lips. They hacked with swords as sorceresses wielded magic against them and mortars launched shells. Priests healed the wounded, and their combined might cause a bloodbath where more abominations were killed. Arthas hewed down many, as Kel'thuzad froze many more. The Lich and Death Knights combined power allowed them to repulse the enemy after many minutes of heavy fighting. After waiting for a bit longer to recover, Arthas decided to risk an assault. He could see the wizard responsible some ways to the north, over the canals. Howe, er his enemy was beyond reach.  
To his surprise, this assault was the essence of simplicity. He advanced virtually unopposed through the waters, the only threat being the aura and the few water elementals, who were swiftly defeated by numbers alone. A fountain of health stood there, useless with the aura in effect. Arthas brought his forces out of the waters to the north and sent his forces against the defenders, who fought well despite being outnumbered and far weaker in strength. For his part, Arthas slipped past the fray and headed south, to assault the wizard personally.  
He had hoped to take the spell caster by surprise, but he had no luck there. The wizard raised aloft his staff and summoned into the world a water elemental, very similar to the one Arthas remembered Jaina using. The creature sent a surge of water at the distracted Death Knight, whose horse leaped aside. Arthas shrugged away the memories, approached the water elemental and slashed it in two with one stroke of his sword. Riding forward, the wizard cast a blizzard upon him, as hailstones fell upon him, denting his army, and leaving a bloody gash on his forehead. Even so, he pressed on and ran the man through, before drawing out Frostmourne and letting his lifeless body fall to the ground.  
'The second wizard has fallen!' proclaimed Kel'thuzad behind him to all their forces. 'Only one cursed aura remains!' Arthas could feel the elation of victory sweeping through the scourge, as their plans proceeded as they were meant to.  
With the aura faded, Arthas drew his forces after him, pausing only to break apart another cage. From its wreckage emerged an ogre magi, who looked at him in surprise. 'Where are those puny wizards?' It asked. 'Me smash them!'  
'Follow me,' said Arthas with a smile 'and you will have all the wizards you could ever want to smash.'  
The ogre fell in with the abominations and they made their way back to the fountain of health in order to be restored from their injuries. Arthas called up acolytes to sew their wounds back together, applying the waters of the fountain to their flesh as they did so. It seemed that the fountain of health did not discriminate between undead and living, and its magics worked well upon the abominations.  
For his part, Arthas drank gratefully of the fountain, the water refreshing his spirit and body, before he rode out to scout ahead while the acolytes worked. He made his way out of the canals and into the city proper. Directly east of him, he found that there lay a serious bastion of human resistance. The Sorcerer's League had arrayed itself in a powerful position, with many canon towers covering the approaches. Arthas halted for a time there, and after seeing their fortifications in full withdrew back to his forces.  
'I tire of this endless urban warfare.' He said to Kel'thuzad. 'Do you have any idea where the final wizard might be?'  
'I know this city well.' said Kel'thuzad 'The best place to cast a spell such as these auras would be the center of the Violet Citidel. That is also where they will keep the Book of Medivh, if they indeed still have it.' His voice became darker. 'However, first, we will have to contend with the Sorcerer's League. Their headquarters are directly in our path.'  
Arthas grimaced, he had hoped to bypass the enemy fortifications, kill the last wizard, steal the Book of Medivh and be gone.'You realize its almost certainly Antonidas whom we must slay.' Put in Arthas ruefully. He was Jaina's mentor, and she would doubtless take the news hard. Assuming he did not run into her while he was here. That idea chilled him to the bone.

'You realize it's almost certainly Antonidas whom we must slay.' put in Arthas ruefully. He was Jaina's mentor, and she would doubtless take the news hard. Assuming he did not run into her while he was here. That idea chilled him to the bone.  
'I know.' said Kel'thuzad 'Like you, I made my own choices in the cold north. Let's go.'  
They made their way east, out of the canals and soon found themselves being fired upon by canon towers, and meeting a substantial ground force. The engagement was bloody. The canon towers did not fall easily and claimed several abominations before they were torn down. The sorcerer's league was outnumbered, and most of their strength had already been spent earlier. Even so, they fought them as they came out of the canals, they fought them as they climbed up to the plateau. Even after their defenses had been swept away, the few remnants fought on against the tide of abominations, enhanced with bloodlust from the spells of the ogre mage, striving with all their might to bar Arthas and his undead passage. Ultimately one of the rock golems and the ogre mage fell in battle against them.  
Yet it was a futile resistance. Finally, when all hope of stopping them became lost, Sorcerer's League gave up entirely, withdrawing to out of the way fortifications. Arthas left all who did not oppose him to live and took care to avoid harming civilians as he made his way north, and halted directly before the last barrier. Arthas took a deep breath before the plunge.  
Then he glanced to the west and saw a force of gryphon riders flying down over the hills, heading for the base camp. More reinforcements, but from where? He didn't know. Yet it filled him with an ominous sense.  
'Do we withdraw?' asked Kel'thuzad.  
'…No.' said Arthas after a moment. 'We're nearly done here, and abominations will be of no help against gryphon riders. Let the spirit towers handle them. We only need a bit of time.' He motioned with Frostmourne. 'Forward!' He called aloud. 'For the Lich King!' They met almost immediately a tight knot of Knights and Sorceresses, guarding a series of cages, who put up a brief but spirited resistance before they too were overwhelmed by the passes of flesh and plague. The cages were cast down, and from them emerged… flying sheep?  
Arthas stared in shock as the sheep turned into Blue Dragons, who swooped about and hovered before them, their wings beating the air. 'Finally…' said the one 'I was so tired of being stuck as a sheep. Who are you, and why have you freed me? Whatever the answer you have my… oh damn.' By this point, he had born witness to the masses of undead all around him.  
'Look here…' said Arthas, ignoring the savage pain of the aura as they made their way south, just out of it. 'what is your name?'

'I am Kalecgos of the Blue Dragon Flight.' replied the Dragon stiffly, wings beating the air as he stayed in midair.  
'That's wonderful,' said Arthas, not really interested. 'but I've only got so much time before aura kills me and my forces. Seeing as I saved you from slavery, I would appreciate any assistance you can give me in my mission.'  
'Don't listen to him Kalecgos!' said the other. 'His kind are the whole reason we came here in the first place.'  
'Yes Tyrygosa, I haven't forgotten our mission.' snapped Kalecgos in annoyance, before turning his head to face Arthas. 'I'm not going to help you wipe out all life.'  
'I'm not asking you to help me wipe out all life.' replied Arthas patiently, annoyed at his assumption. 'Just the life in this general area, and not necessarily even that. I just want you to help me kill one of the wizards of the Kirin Tor who locked you up in the first place.'  
'The answers no,' said Tyrygosa, before turning in midair and flying off over the walls, and into the distance, and Kalecgos turned to follow her without a wings. As the beat of their wings faded into the distance, Kel'thuzad came up behind Arthas.  
'Not to interrupt, but while you were talking with those creatures the abominations became severely injured.' said Kel'thuzad. 'That also applies to you and me.'  
Arthas cursed his deadened nerves as he and his forces returned to the fountain of health to be restored by the acolytes. Arthas drank of the waters of the fountain again, and was once more restored. The delay bought the Kirin Tor another hour or two, during which Arthas was in a fouler mood than he'd been in weeks. 'Of all the ungrateful bastards,' He muttered to himself. 'do you think I should have killed them?'

'I doubt two young blue dragons will make any impact in the long run.' replied Kel'thuzad.  
'Yes, I suppose you are right.' Arthas mused.  
They made their way back to the same area and broke open the other cage. This one revealed spiders, which Arthas found he was able to direct with his will. He sent them in ahead as shock troops as he and his abominations brought up the rear. The resulting assault found the enemy waiting behind barricades, which Dwarven riflemen fired over with endless shots. The barricade was smashed, the dwarves were scattered or slain. The armies of the Lich King rushed into the gardens of the Violet Ccitidel and headed north, to where Antonidas was casting his spells amidst the gardens. The gardens of Dalaran had for many years been a place of life and beauty, a wondrous and eternal place comparable to Quel'thalas in its beauty. Filled with magic, directed to no purpose save existence itself.  
Now it became marred by combat. Abominations stormed into them, brushing aside branches with such speed that they snapped, and trampling over flowers as soldiers rushed into the gardens from the west. A pitched battle ensued, as abominations were hacked to pieces, and footmen and knights were hewn down, their bodies falling to land beneath trees. Guns echoed from the dwarves, as the abominations fought on. Arthas and Kel'thuzad broke free of the battle and found their way to Antonidas. The Old Wizard saw them raised his staff, and a flurry of ice descended upon the undead, tearing many abominations to shreds in moments. Firebolts were hurled into their midsts, and several more abominations were burned to a cinder in the fray, while one of them hit Arthas' shoulder. The burning sensation was terrible, only made worse by the aura, and Arthas hissed in pain. In retaliation raised Frostmourne as he rode forward and sent a death coil which surged through the air. The Wizard raised one hand, and counter spelled it with ease. However Kel'thuzad sent a bolt of dark energy towards him, and even as Antonidas halted the spell with a flash, Arthas was upon him. He struck the old man with the flat of his blade, knocking him from his horse. Antonidas landed upon the pavements, blood trailing from his mouth as his horse screamed in fear of the undead and fled. The Wizard scrambled up to his feet, as the aura dispersed, staff in hand as Arthas dismounted and approached him, sword in hand. He was going to kill him. It was not an action which he had decided he would do for himself, it wasn't even a choice. Arthas knew beyond a doubt as he approached that Antonidas would die by his hand. The old man looked suddenly very afraid. Then something in Arthas forced him to stop, remaining very still as he wrestled with some terrible reluctance. In that moment Antonidas' fear turned to determination. The old wizard raised his hands and teleported away. Kel'thuzad was there moments later, looking for all the world worried. 'Into the Violet Citadel Death Knight!' cried the Lich 'Quickly, before he escapes with the book!'  
Arthas and he rushed away from the combat, and into the Violet Citidel which loomed above them. Arthas had long ago forgotten the way, however, Kel'thuzad knew it well. He led them swiftly through the empty halls, seeking the book. 'How do you know the way to the book?' asked Arthas.  
'I was privy to the location of the Book of Medivh.' replied the Lich. 'When Khadgar brought it back from Kharazan after Medivh destroyed the tower. What a complete waste that was.' There was actually _regret_ in his tone, of all things.  
'Then why did you ask Archimond where to look?' asked Arthas.  
'I was testing him to see how much he knew.' replied Kel'thuzad evenly. 'He did not disappoint me.'  
'You aren't supposed to test the things you worship.' replied Arthas chidingly, despite the severity of the situation.  
'I don't worship Archimond.' replied Kel'thuzad somewhat defensively. 'I am in awe of him.'  
Arthas relented, and they passed through the halls, and finally came into a chamber where a book stood upon a table. Antonidas was making for it from another door on the opposite side of the room, however, Arthas rushed forward to barred his path. The wizard raised a spell, but Kel'thuzad countered it with an upraised claw.  
For a moment they stood there, facing one another. Young and old, wizard and death knight. Antonidas and Arthas were deadly silent, and Arthas realized suddenly that he did not want to kill him. Jaina would be heartbroken to hear of his death. The Death Knight realized his hands were shaking and he steadied them.  
'It pains me to even look at you, Arthas.' said Antonidas, and in a moment of clairvoyance, Arthas realized the old man was not really speaking to him, but to Kel'thuzad.  
As he readied his sword, the Death Knight reminded himself that Antonidas could have given up. If he'd just handed over the Book of Medivh, no one would have needed to die. This was his fault, all of this carnage. The result of his stubborn refusal to allow them in. 'I'll be happy to end your torment, old man.' said Arthas, fury coming into his tone at his own helplessness. 'I gave you the chance to avert all of this.'  
He let go, and his arms moved of their own accord, striking Antonidas. In that singular moment, everything slowed down. In that moment Arthas knew what he was supposed to do, but he didn't. He couldn't, the thought of Jaina's face when she heard of her master's death was more than he could bear, and at the last moment, Arthas turned the blade so that he struck with the flat, and redirected his sword to hit the old wizard across the forehead. The old wizard gasped fell backward, unconscious, blood upon his brow from the force of the blow. Arthas spun Frostmourne round twice before sheathing it, then turning back to the book, making his way over to it. He looked at the pages of the book he had killed so many to gain with interest.

Was it for this that so many had died? Uther, Muradin, many of the Paladin order, and who knew how many other nameless unknowns soldiers. His regrets were crushed down beneath an iron resolve not entirely his own. He could not read the elegant letters upon the pages, however, he saw many pictures of terrible demons. Reading through several pages, he saw pictures of the massive Pit Lords, and their rivals the Doomguards, and the comely yet deadly Succubi. Finally he close the book and thrust it into Kel'thuzad's hands. 'The tome is all yours Lich.' He said eventually. 'Lets take it and leave before the wizards amass for their final attack.'  
This wasn't over. Dalaran was not defeated. Even as they departed the violet citidel the wizards forces drove back his weakened vanguard. Arthas and Kel'thuzad fled through the streets, hotly pursued by the enemy. They rushed through the broken gates and came at last to their fortress. The spirit towers launched a barrage of missiles upon their pursuers, holding them in place as the Lich and Death Knight rallied their forces and pulled them away from the city.  
The undead departed Dalaran swiftly, leaving behind them many dead warriors, priest, and sorcerers. Yet most of the citizens remained alive, and the city was far from destroyed. Archmage Antonidas yet lived, much of its military might had not yet been expended, and with proper leadership and the reinforcements from the rest of the Alliance, Dalaran could become the power it once was again. It would have been reassuring, had the city only the chance of getting the time it needed.  
Arthas had the growing feeling that such a chance would not come, whatever mercy he showed. As Kel'thuzad gazed through the book with fascination, a shadow and a threat grew in his mind. Within Frostmourne, he felt something thrashing, and he shuddered though he was not cold. The souls within the Runeblade were struggling to escape. The fortress behind them was destroyed by an onslaught of Alliance forces.  
Even as the scourge departed the siege, victorious, gryphon riders harassed their flanks, killing many abominations. Dwarvish riflemen fired at them from the trees, then retreated before his forces could assail them. Gyrocopters flew overhead, dropping bombs on their heads, and though crypt fiends brought them low, and abominations destroyed them, it quickly became apparent that the day was turning against them. The scourge had ravaged two nations with untold swiftness, but now, here at Dalaran, the undead had, at last, lost their momentum. Before long it did not seem like a victory at all.  
A vast assault by a veritable horde of knights was only turned back by the heroic sacrifices of innumerable ghouls, who flung themselves into battle without regard to their own wellbeing. At the end of the conflict, precious few ghouls remained within the army, and Arthas found himself with a severe shortage of corpses to replace them with.  
Finally they climbed a hill overlooking Dalaran, a place with gardens where once before Arthas and Jaina had eaten a very nice lunch in happier times. The magics of the place prevents him from establishing his bastion upon it, so instead the fortifications were build just west. There they made plans for their final stand, and the summoning. Arthas looked down from the hill, as he saw countless wizards return to the city with greater and greater numbers of mercenaries. Alliance forces, led by a Black Armored Man, bearing the emblem of Stormwind on his shield came into view, and was yielded command by his fellow officers.  
It seemed that the Alliance would not suffer from a lack of command after all. Arthas Menethil had the feeling that things were about to get ugly.

* * *

 **Authors Note:**  
Well this one is done. To be honest, I have mixed feeling regarding this chapter and I think I will run over it again before releasing it. Kinda funny, but the further I get in this fanfic, the more doubts I have about posting the next chapter. I'm kind of glad I wrote it all down in advance, or I might have quit before the end. I had to do some last minute major league edits to it when I posted it, as the site put these weird code things around every paragraph.

As for the fix itself I was originally going to stick to canon and kill Antonidas, since I am an Illidari fan, and if Antonidas were to still be alive, it would completely derail the Blood Elf Campaign. Then as I thought about it, I came up with a way that I could spare Antonidas, and still keep the story on track. Ultimately I spared Antonidas because I wanted all the mercy Arthas has been showing to have an effect on more than just his psyche. I wanted actual good things to come out of it from a story perspective.  
The Kalecgos and Tyrygosa cameo is something I am very unsure of, especially since it changes the mood a bit, right before a very dark part of the story. I'd say they were a bit out of character, but to be honest neither of them had much of a personality to begin with. Well Tyrogosa was kind of sexy, but that was it really. As for Kel'thuzad's prediction that they would have no effect on anything, he was actually right. Kalecgos and Tyrogosa have never once accomplished _anything_ in the entire story. You could have dropped them from the Sunwell Trilogy and lost nothing. I guess Kalecgos is a mary sue, but thats not an accomplishment in my book.  
As for the thing with the banshees, I was originally planning to build a colossal army of Knights via mind control, and use them to overwhelm the Dalaran defenses. However I really wasn't feeling up to it, so I tried mind controlling a peasant instead. Only to find out that I wasn't allowed to build anything with mind controlled peasants. Eventually I just opted to kill everything with abominations and keep it simple.  
However I kept the scene with the Banshees, written when I was planning on using them, because I wanted to demonstrate first that Dar'khan is still an active force, and second because I wanted to show that Arthas is reluctant to force the same fate he suffers on others. The false lead serves to create character development.  
Regarding the scene with the Peons, what most people forget is that Orcish Peons are effectively a slave race who do all the work, while the warriors get all the credit. There are also indications that the New Horde is not much better in this regard. Consequently I decided to show what the effects of freeing the Peons from the Orcs. Also, points for anyone who guesses who the Black Armored General is. Hint: He's one of the most universally reviled scrappy's in Warcraft history.  
Now that thats over with, I'd like to discuss Arthas: Rise of the Lich King's handling of the Siege of Dalaran. Which can basically be summed up as:  
The mages of Dalaran were easy prey because they were squishy wizards without real melee forces.  
To which I retort: Have you **played** the Siege of Dalaran? Its one of the hardest missions in the campaign, beaten only by the mission after it, and the strategy I employed _doesn't_ work on hard mode. You cannot win the mission with pure abominations on the hard difficulty, because the enemy has larger armies with better support. You need spellcasters, which means that you have to take squishy wizards into a situation where they are constantly losing health.  
There are two undead units who are capable of functioning properly within the barrier, abominations and frostwyrms, anything else will be torn to ribbons. Both those units are really expensive, so you have to expand into the enemy territories. Which brings me to the crux of the issue, I'm playing a minimum bloodloss route. I don't want to establish new undead bases, because that requires completely annihilating the enemy base.  
The point is, the Siege of Dalaran is a really tough mission, and Arthas: Rise of the Lich King wasted it, partially because they tried to fit a trilogy's worth of information into a single book, but also because the writers had no conception of what the campaign was like. The summoning of Archimond mission is nigh impossible to beat on normal difficulty without losing your entire base towards the end. Not unless you are really, really good. Yet the book acts as if Arthas effortlessly destroyed the enemy bases.  
Even if you are good enough to win the mission offensively, possible, but unlikely, the idea that you will do it without breaking a sweat is laughable. At the very least in-universe you're going to lose a lot of guys.  
Also, I don't buy that Jaina would just sit around and do nothing while the scourge was ravaging the Alliance. And I'm fairly certain that she would be, I don't know, **organizing an expedition to Kalimdor!** You can't just magically get thousands of people onto boats and escape without breaking a sweat. The only reason Arthas managed it was because he was recruiting a military organization under his authority. Jaina has no authority over the people of Lordaeron, and other places, so her expedition would take preparations which she would not have time for.  
Moreover, it is literally impossible for Jaina to have been at Dalaran when Arthas arrived there. Why? Because when the Prophet Medivh explains that the Eastern Kingdoms of Azeroth have fallen, Jaina is surprised. If she had seen Arthas at the head of a vast army, and heard him describe how he burned down Quel'thalas after sacking Lordaeron, she wouldn't be surprised. She was there! Not just that, but its implied that the undead campaign, and the orc campaign have some overlap in terms of timeline. This makes perfect sense, as it explains why Arthas is nowhere to be found until late in the Night Elf Campaign, he's still in transit between continents. If Jaina were to leave just after the Siege of Dalaran, she would logically arrive after the Orcish Horde in the domain of the Prophet, because you can't cross the sea in ten minutes. This would mean that the entire Cry of the Warsong mission never would have happened, because they would have arrived after the Orcs, which means that Grom Hellscream never gets sent to Ashenvale, which means Cenarius never gets killed, which in turn means that the Legion is up the creek without a paddle. Mannaroth would look to go one on with Cenarius, Cenarius would kill him, and the first contact with Night Elves never happens.  
So yeah, there is no way, on heaven or earth that Jaina Proudmoore could have conceivably observed Arthas outside Dalaran. Except by scrying. Actually, I have a serious problem with Arthas: Rise of the Lich King's interpretation of Jaina. A strong, soft-spoken and intelligent individual with her own goals and plans, is reduced to a freaking Disney Princess.  
And another thing, why is it that Kel'thuzad is apparently able to teleport people into the future now? Because the timeline which they establish indicates that Arthas was teleported to Kalimdor right after Archimond is summoned, yet Illidan isn't released until well after the Orc Campaign.  
Just a small last note here, Illidan didn't take his Demon Form against Arthas. Arthas attacked him mid-transformation, and aimed for the crotch. It was one of the most brilliant anticlimax's in video game history, and a supreme moment of combat pragmatism working. Its still my favorite one on one fight in a video game. So why is it that Blizzard felt the need to have Illidan take his Demon Form? Wouldn't it be better to assume that Arthas was afraid of Illidan's Demon Form, and that he was willing to do anything to prevent him from achieving it?  
Last thing, I promise. Why is it that they felt the need to make Arthas into an utter sadist after becoming a Death Knight? They actually removed his friendship moment with Kel'thuzad, and added countless unnecessary lines of dialogue taunting people about how much evil he's done. The appeal of Arthas was that he wasn't a card carrying villain. He had moments of sadism, but for the most part he was just focused on winning. You could draw whatever conclusions you wanted about him. Arthas in Rise of the Lich King is not only way less badass than his video game counterpart, he also defies everything which makes Arthas the character he is.  
What are Death Knight Arthas core personality traits?  
He's a brilliant deadpan snarker, with countless witty lines.  
He's best friends with Kel'thuzad.  
He is a benevolent boss to his subordinates and cruel to his enemies.  
In Rise of the Lich King most of his best dialogue is removed, because they cut the most interesting scenes. His confrontation with Sapphiron, the entirety of Azjol Nerub, and many more are completely removed because they have about a fourth of a book to cover an entire novels worth of data.  
In Rise of the Lich King they actually go out of their way to state that Arthas is not friends with Kel'thuzad, even though literally every other part of lore, and dialogue in the book itself indicates otherwise. Fortunately this attempt at a retcon has been largely ignored by fans and blizzard alike.  
They managed to somewhat keep the last one, but it isn't enough. I liked the bits with Paladin Arthas, but they completely mismanaged the Death Knight. What could have expanded upon the story of Arthas, instead only serves to be a vehicle for pointless cameos, which largely retreads the same story with too many mistakes to make it enjoyable. Azjol Nerub was the best part of Legacy of the Damned!  
Lastly, there is another story currently in progress set in the Mercyverse, entitled Wrath of the Light. Check it out, its sort of a prequel. While your at it, I have a webcomic entitled Pointless Redemption, which can be found on Comic Fury. Its drawn by hand using a mouse and keyboard, and I'd really appreciate some reviews on it.  
Alas, I can't post links on fanfiction so you'll just have to Google it.

 **EDIT:**

A number of minor changes, most notably changing Tyrogosa to the proper spelling of Tyrygosa. I'm actually quite satisfied how this storyline turned out, personally. Now I have only one more chapter to edit.


	8. Under a Burning Sky

**Under a Burning Sky:**

The time for the Alliance's vengeance had come.

Grand Marshall Garithos was a veteran of the First and Second Wars. He had originally been a Priest of Northshire, however, when his father and elder brother died, he had returned to his original lands, and turned it into a fortified farming community. Just like Bolvar Foredragon, who had been ordered to do so by the King. Garithos had then deflected a large series of raids by the orcs. Just like Bolvar Foredragon, who had been ordered to do so by the King. Garithos then pressed the assault, and killed an entire orcish village, and all its defenders, down to the last man woman and child. Then Bolvar Foredragon had done the same thing to one that was larger, following the instructions of the King. After that Uther Lightbringer rescued Lord Lothar, and Garithos was quite forgotten by the King of Stormwind. With how the war turned out for humanity, it was little wonder that he had gained little for his the second war he had been assigned to Stromguarde where he fought a long and brutal campaign where he never lost a battle, and yet neither did he manage to gain a resounding victory. His great accomplishment had been forcing a stalemate against all odds, and to take it one step further, with only humans. While he had no objection to humans uniting with each other, uniting with nonhumans was to him a form of heresy. His policy of discrimination against other races had made him few friends at court and as a

During the second war he had been assigned to Stromguarde where he fought a long and brutal campaign where he never lost a battle, and yet neither did he manage to gain a resounding victory. His great accomplishment had been forcing a stalemate against all odds, and to take it one step further, with only humans. While he had no objection to humans uniting with each other, uniting with nonhumans was to him a form of heresy. His policy of discrimination against other races had made him few friends at court, and as a result, it was Bolvar who had been chosen for the title of Regent, not him. Aiden Llane was, for obvious reasons, not in the running. Even the fact that Garithos had a limited affiliation with the light had not helped his case. He could heal his troops as well as any Paladin, with his old Priest training.

The Paladins, meanwhile, preferred to pretend as though he didn't exist. Well, look where that got them.

Garithos had gotten a consolation prize of sorts, for he had been granted the title of Grand Marshall by the Council of Nobles in order to counteract Bolvar's authority over them. Now he was using that title to assume command of the Alliance forces at Dalaran. It hadn't been difficult, as no one had heard from Archmage Antonidas, and it was largely assumed that he was dead. Among the forces at Garithos' disposal were elves, and dwarves, whom Garithos viewed with contempt. No doubt it was their fault that things had gone so badly in the first place. Still, he had to make due with what he had.

His enemy was the former Crown Prince of Lordaeron, Arthas Menethil. Killing him would give Garithos a feather in his cap which even Uther Lightbringer could not claim. And morale, to Garithos' surprise, was high.

'This is it, men! This time we'll gut that bastard!' said a Footman to his comrades.

'We'll show that murdering Prince what happens to traitors!' proclaimed a Knight to his peers.

For an army which had been thoroughly defeated so far, the Alliance was in surprisingly high spirits. The reason for this was because although the undead had technically achieved their objective, their retreat had revealed that a prolonged engagement would have destroyed them. Now the undead were atop a hill, preparing their defenses as best they could, far fewer in number than they had been a day ago when their siege began.

The general opinion in the camp was that the Alliance had been fighting better than they had at first believed and that the undead had been run through a meat grinder. Now their apparently infinite numbers for which they had become so feared, were running out. Which meant that one more strike on their position might well be the end for the scourge as an entity. Certainly, the death of Arthas would result in their leadership falling apart.

'We've got them now, lads!'

'The Light shall burn him, and all who stand before us!' This last part made Garithos scowl. For it was said by a high elven priest who had said it. The Light had chosen humanity first after all, and the fact that its worship had spread to elves seemed to Garithos and abomination.

'I hate working with these… people.' He said to God when no one was listening. 'God' was a theoretical entity who provided the source of the Holy Light. In Lordaeron the light was viewed more as a benevolent energy field, rather than a deity. This viewpoint had been adopted by the clerics of Stormwind after they returned from Lordaeron. Most of the original clergy were wiped out when Northshire Abbey fell, after all, so the worship of God was largely put into the realm of a theoretical explanation for the Light's existence than any true matter of faith.

Garithos, however, was an old school variety of ex-priest. He didn't believe in an energy field which surrounded and penetrated all living things, he believed in worldwide floods and mass death perpetuated for violating the commands of an omnipotent Lord. Thus he approached his forces, putting his contempt for the lesser races to the back of his mind as he focused on rallying them all. 'Men of the Alliance, you have all fought hard for the day when you will reclaim your land.' He said to them, reflecting that speeches were not his forte. 'The enemy forces are decimated. All we need do is destroy their Fortress, and the rest of Lordaeron shall soon be ours! Forward! Wipe out the undead to the last! Those who succeed here will heroes!'

The forces of the Alliance gave a great cry of enthusiasm and streamed forth to assault their enemy and destroy him utterly. Garithos smiled. When Lordaeron was retaken, someone would have to be assigned as the new King, and who better than the man who had retaken it?

Of course when he was leader there would be changes…

* * *

One hour later, atop a hill overlooking Dalaran, Arthas Menethil prepared to make his last stand. Kel'thuzad had spent the last hour reading. Not helping, just reading. Perhaps he was taking inspiration from Tichondrius in his lifestyle. Yes, Arthas Menethil was feeling stressed, thanks for asking!

In the past hour, he'd seen his massive army beaten down to a fraction of its former size. Gryphon riders had cut off his supply lines, which meant that he would be getting no new reinforcements from the passes. Oh, and now that he was on the subject of problems, he was having second thoughts about summoning a Demon who meant to end all creation. Not that he could back out, even if he wanted to, which he **did not** because his soul belonged to the Lich King. Even though he had given his soul for the explicit purpose of saving his people, and now was being instructed to take actions which would almost certainly destroy them.

Funny how things work out. It seemed to Arthas that he had grounds for a refund. And now he was thinking like a Goblin. Frostmourne, as usual, was telling him to shut up and go kill something, but he didn't listen to Frostmourne anymore because that was all it ever wanted to do!

Despite all of this, he managed to keep his cool outwardly. 'The circle of power has been prepared per your instructions Lich. Are you ready to begin the summoning?' If he wasn't they were all going die, but Arthas didn't need to remind Kel'thuzad of that fact. The summoning circle was set amidst four obelisks and had many runes upon it. It was at the dead center of the encampment.

Kel'thuzad looked up from his book, looking for all the world as if he had been wholly absorbed by its pages. Arthas felt a smile come to his features as he remembered that Jaina had that habit too, becoming so interested in a document that all else was phased out. Then that feeling too was gone, leaving only emptiness, and rising fury. 'Nearly,' said the Lich 'I've been reading through Medivh's spellbook. His knowledge of Demons alone is staggering. I suspect that he was far more powerful than anyone ever realized.'

At that moment green mist filled the air, and who should appear, but Tichondrius. Oh, joy, more irrelevant words from the resident armchair general. Just what was needed, really! 'Not powerful enough to escape death, that is for certain.' said the Demon as if he had had a hand in it. 'Suffice to say the work he began we will finish… today.' His tone was filled with uncharacteristic relish. 'Let the summoning commence!'

Arthas noticed that he had said 'we', we meant that they would be working together. And Tichondrius had not yet abandoned them to do all the work. What was this? Could it be that the Dreadlord was going to get off his arse and help accomplish the objective he had set?! Could this mission truly be so important that _Tichondrius_ of all people was taking a personal hand in things, and actually _helping?!_ This was too good to be true!

Arthas stopped, realization dawning as the green mist arose around the Dreadlords legs. Oh wait it was too good to be true, Tichondrius left them to fend for themselves again, disappearing into the mist. Kel'thuzad took his position at the peak of the hill amidst the circle to begin summoning, raising his arms aloft and letting his gaze fall from the heavens above. This was par for the course, really. It was the height of optimistic naivety to assume Tichondrius might actually do some work to achieve the objectives he himself had set.'The Dreadlord is far too committed to his policy of masterly inactivity to ever truly accomplish anything directly in his miserable life.' He snarled under his breath.

'The Dreadlord is far too committed to his policy of masterly inactivity to ever truly accomplish anything directly in his miserable life.' He snarled under his breath.

Arthas realized on some level that he should have been feeling angry, or sorrowful, or grief-stricken, or cold or something far more serious than he was, but he was really beyond caring at this point. Even if he wanted to stop, he couldn't, so he didn't see why he should concern himself with all the grim ceremony of the Cult of the Damned. He couldn't remember the last time he had laughed and really enjoyed it. It was odd that such thoughts pursued him now, yet he found himself mulling it over with far more interest than he paid his forces. Was it when he had met Uther outside of Strahnbrad? Yes, that was it.

Feeling that he should attempt to fulfill his objectives to the best of his ability, he surveyed his hastily erected defenses. In the wake of the 'victory' at Dalaran, the escaped creatures had deserted the army, leaving only undead. They had no desire to die for their saviors, only to avenge themselves on the Kirin Tor. Most of the ghouls had been killed in various skirmishes, and they were short on the corpses necessary to make more. The abominations had been cut down en masse in the retreat if they hadn't been consumed by the auras and killed in the heavy urban fighting. Meanwhile, necromancers were still unavailable and the Banshees had disappeared without a trace. Perhaps Dar'khan was withdrawing his support now that things looked grim, Arthas wouldn't put it past him, though he didn't see how Dar'khan could benefit from such an action. Or perhaps they had been killed in the chaos of the retreat. Whatever the case, only the crypt fiends remained plentiful, primary because Arthas didn't like using them very much. They were made from the corpses of an endangered species which lived only in Northrend. Consequently making new ones was a bit of an elaborate process. Certainly, he knew that they alone would be insufficient to quell the tide that even now was rising against him.

He seriously considered just letting the Alliance wipe him out. Not because it was the right thing to do, or because he felt guilty, he wasn't sure he was capable of that at the moment. Nor even because he'd be saving the world. Just because he was feeling spiteful. It would amuse him to see the look on Tichondrius' face when he realized that the person he had been foisting all his duties off on had abruptly turned the tables.

That was it. Arthas had absolutely no emotional investment in any of this nonsense. He hated Tichondrius, he hated Archimond, about the only person he didn't hate during this mess was the Alliance. His war on them had been the essence of nothing personal, and while he had had fun once or twice outwitting Sylvanas and such, it had become increasingly apparent to him that this wasn't his fight.

He was just a pawn to these people. Archimond had snubbed him in their first meeting, acted as though he wasn't even there, assuming the Demon Lord had even noticed him. Well, he was going to regret it, because Arthas was going to let his whole plan fall to pieces in seconds. It wouldn't be hard, he'd just command his mindless subordinates to destroy their own fortifications. They would obey, even if they didn't want to! Even if they knew it would mean the death of them and the ruination of their cause they would obey him! Then they would die! Frostmourne somewhat fearfully pointed out that he would be among those to die as well.

Arthas halted, conflicted. That last part was the real thing stopping him because Arthas didn't really want to die. He was seriously concerned about what would happen to him after his spirit crossed over. Even so, he supposed that his chances would be better if he actively sabotaged the forces of darkness and saved the world in doing so. And he had already gone out of his way to avoid committing great evil, that had to count for something. Maybe the light would show him mercy.

 _'_ _I will do it!'_ He snarled inwardly to silence his doubts. _'I will massacre my own forces, and deliver this land to the Alliance! I'll kill the Acolytes! I'll kill the Crypt Fiends! I'll kill myself! I'll kill… Kel'thuzad…'_

In that moment Arthas realized that Kel'thuzad was not just another disposable pawn to him. It set in that none of his subordinates were really disposable pawns to him. The Lich and his followers had poured years of their lives into this, for this singular moment, and Arthas suddenly realized that he was not willing to ruin it for them purely out of spite. Perhaps if he was capable of caring about things like the greater good, or people he didn't know, he might have acted differently. As it was, he took his place as commander and prepared to defend the hill.

His inner conflict took only a few moments.

During the preparation before the before the battle, Arthas had done the only thing he could think to do with his limited resources. He had started throwing up spirit towers like there was no tomorrow. As there might not be if this worked. Fortunately, the magical nature of this place allowed them to be raised far more quickly, and he soon surrounded the hill with them, protecting both his Fortress and the site where the summoning would take place. He assigned Acolytes behind the endless rows of spirit towers to ensure they remained intact. Then he gathered the totality of his Crypt Fiends upon the hill, guarding Kel'thuzad.

'Lord Arthas,' said a necromancer as he approached. 'our scouts have found a cache of Goblin Landmines.'

An unexpected windfall, good things did indeed happen to bad people. 'Excellent,' Said Arthas 'we will make good use of them.'

He rode out west to the location with haste and there found the stores. Picking three of them up, he made his way back to the base of the hill. There he dismounted and kneeled to set one down before the entrance. Then making his way a little further up, he set another and activated their sensors. They beeped and then burrowed. Goblin Landmines had been programmed to only activate when an enemy stepped over them. No one had yet figured how they worked, only that they did. Arthas set another further up, then moved back to the cache, and brought three more back, which he set on the east entrance. One more trip and he did the same to the north.

Now all there was to do was wait. Little by little, the Alliance arrived, their armies covering the field before him. They came on horseback, and on gryphons, and in gyrocopters and in tanks. They surged at the defenses and pounded against them in an onslaught which shook the ground. Riflemen fired endlessly, as bombs were dropped on fortifications, creating massive explosions which rocked the buildings where they stood. The crypt fiends rushed to and fro, driving off attackers on one side, then another, acting a rapid response force which Arthas sent wherever the fighting was thickest. Spirit towers were cast down, only to be raised anew by acolytes with remarkable speed. It seemed as if some unseen force was speeding their efforts, ensuring they could continue the defense.

'The Legions fury scorches the the sky!' proclaimed Kel'thuzad, his voice audible to all the damned. 'The barriers between the worlds are weakening!' Arthas looked up, and to his awe saw that the clouds were rolling in over the sun, and taking on a hue of reddish orange. The air began to shift and change, as though some force were distorting reality itself.

Knights and Footmen died in waves against the spirit towers, and yet their comrades pressed onward anyway. Riflemen and Mortars advanced behind them, firing volleys on any target they could find. A vicious stalemate had now consumed the hills, as wave after wave of Alliance forces arrived, were driven back, and reformed to attack again. Arthas was forced to take a direct hand in the fighting, hacking and slashing through the lines of the Alliance forces. He scarcely noticed as he cleaved skulls, and ran men through. Men with families hopes and dreams, though having dreams could be said of anyone who died on the field, even if in the ghouls case it was only to find a corpse to eat. Arthas had never before been more detached emotionally from events as he hacked and slashed, and within his heart of hearts, he began to wonder if it was not the work of the Lich King. Perhaps the Lich King feared what Arthas might do if he were able to feel. He had his dark master running scared. He supposed that was something.

'The Legion has sent Hellhounds to aid us! The beasts are yours to command Death Knight!' proclaimed Kel'thuzad once again. Arthas was well pleased by that statement, and he moved up to the hilltop to make contact with them.

The Hellhounds emerged from the twisting nether, red skinned beasts which Arthas put to good use alongside his crypt fiends. They tore apart infantry with their claws, and devoured riflemen. The crypt fiends brought low gryphon riders, and the hellhounds savaged them to death. As the battle progressed Arthas realized that even tanks could not withstand the assault of the hellhounds. Their claws broke through armored hulls as their jaws dragged those within out of the craft to be torn apart. The Death Knight began to take some satisfaction in using them.

Soon, still more hellhounds were sent to their aid, and these too were brought into the fighting. Their numbers were now great enough that wherever they went the enemy fell before them. Yet the Alliance came at them from all sides, and mortars and siege tanks smashed against the defenses.

Arthas played little role in the direct combat. Most of his time was spent directing soldiers and ensuring the defense did not fail. What had once been a life or death struggle for the fate of the world had become an oddly trifling matter. All of a sudden the world seemed more like a game than real. 'Acolytes, shore up that spirit tower before it falls!' He called. 'Hellhounds, move to the northern defenses! The enemy is upon them!' He had to keep his defenses up to win. They obeyed without question, as usual. Their lives depended on it. And so did his, so why did he have no emotional investment in anything?

On and on it waged, the Alliance breaking, then reformed to attack again. Endless hours passed as the brutal combat continued without quarter asked or given. The bodies of dead men were piled in droves on the ground, their faces cold and pale. During the lulls of combat, the Hellhounds feasted to their heart's content. Yet still, the Alliance pressed on, for they seemed possessed by a magnificent madness, a determination to destroy the scourge no matter the cost. Their casualties did not matter, their personal hope of survival did not matter. All that mattered was the scourge's destruction.

It was the exact same mindset Arthas had had when he pursued Mal'ganis. It was an interesting revelation to gaze upon his previous mindset from the outside viewpoint of an objective observer. Arthas wondered if the Alliance's desire for vengeance would spiral out of control as his had. It was an interesting thing to contemplate, though he reflected that they likely wouldn't get the chance if Archimond was indeed summoned.

The defenses were straining, he realized, and a vast host of Alliance forces was pressing down upon them from the east. This could be the end, and chances are it would be a horrible end indeed.

All of a sudden, a darkness fell over the sun, and out of many portals came massive giants of stone and fire, which smashed their way through the ranks of the Alliance with such reckless abandon that the tide was for a few moments turned. Soon the stones arose into vague figures, built of green flaming rock, that smote those around them with terrible blows that crushed man and horse alike. Gunfire bounced off of them with almost no effect, and armor could not withstand them.

'At last, the mighty infernal's have been sent to aid us!'stated Kel'thuzad joyfully as they wrought carnage upon the field. 'Rally them quickly, Death Knight, they are yours to command!'

Arthas did as Kel'thuzad suggested, and brought his hellhounds, crypt fiends and internals into a single group. Even as he did so the assault fell on the eastern side of the hill, and Arthas led his forces to meet it. He hacked the head from a Knight, and ran a rifleman through, but he needn't have bothered. Such was the power of the Infernals that they burned and tore through everything which assailed them so that the hellhounds and crypt fiends were nearly an afterthought. After a gruesome slaughter, the enemy on that side all lay dead. Yet more were coming to replace them, giving no chance for respite as they crossed the distance. Worse still Arthas had no time to await them, for another attack was even now falling upon the north. There he and his forces rushed to defeat the assault with lightning speed and caught the enemy just in time. Hellhounds ripped the organs from dwarvish riflemen and feasted on the flesh of knights horses. Infernals crushed and broke whole squads of soldiers. Yet the wrath of the Alliance was insatiable. The forces of Dalaran persisted endlessly, through all casualties and harm, until at last the tide of the battle began to turn in their favor. The Infernals showed cracks in their armor, slow to mend. The hellhounds were wounded by swords and guns. Some of the crypt fiends had lost legs. Tanks were breaking down the spirit towers, and mortars had already begun to shell his base. Knights pressed in from the north and east.

'Pull back to the hill!' called Arthas to his men. 'Reform atop the hill!'

They made their way up the slope and resolved to make their stand there, surrounding Kel'thuzad. At that moment Arthas realized that many acolytes were still manning their posts in the doomed bastion. Rushing to the edge of the hill, he called down to them. 'Pull back you men!' He cried 'All acolytes retreat to the hilltop! Take positions behind the defenses!'

Then mustering his infernos, hellhounds and crypt fiends, he waited for the assault to fall. For a terrible few moments, they waited as their enemies closed in around them. The first to break the defenses was to the north. The knights charged up the hill and hit the goblin landmines. There was a terrific explosion, and the first rank fell dead with the neighing of horses. Yet the rest pressed on, and in a vicious battle they fought onwards, neither side able to field its full forces. Blood ran in rivers.

Then the eastern defenses yielded before the Alliance's onslaught, and Arthas called out to a ground of hellhounds mentally, leading them personally to meet a new foe. He hacked the head from a Knight on horseback, before bisecting a sorceress as the hellhounds tore through their enemies, though they took terrible wounds in the process. Yet even as victory seemed within reach the northern defense was driven in, and Arthas realized he must reinforce it. Yet he had nothing to reinforce it with! His forces were all fighting! Yet…

He was a Death Knight surrounded by corpses. He had all the forces he'd ever need.'Idiot!' he hissed to himself. Raising his hand, he raised the undead spirits of the many corpses and sent them to cut down the enemies on the east entrance, while what remained of his standing army moved to defend the north.

'Idiot!' he hissed to himself. Raising his hand, he raised the undead spirits of the many corpses and sent them to cut down the enemies on the east entrance, while what remained of his standing army moved to defend the north.

The base to the west was almost completely destroyed, the enemy were closing in around them. His forces seemed unsteady, and an air of fear was taking hold of them. The Hellhounds whimpered slightly as the tread of iron boots was heard throughout the hills. The crypt fiends looked around at the mustering host which even now scaled the hills around them from every side. The undead, the fearless and unstoppable force, had become afraid and even now looked as though they might flee. There wasn't a single warrior remaining who was unwounded, and though they had slain countless enemies, the numbers arrayed against them seemed limitless.

The situation had become truly desperate. Soon the Alliance would kill his sorely wounded warriors, then Kel'thuzad, and nothing they had done would have had any consequence. At this moment, Arthas stirred within himself a bloody determination and rose to the front of the line as their enemies closed in around them, clad in shining mail with gleaming swords.

'Hold your ground!' called Arthas to his warriors, raising Frostmourne and stirring in their hearts a bitter resolve. 'Kel'thuzad must be defended! This is the hour of our victory!'

A ragged and determined cheer resounded throughout the scourge. Hellhounds bayed once more for blood, as Infernals and Crypt Fiends charged their enemies. Outnumbered, outflanked and doomed the forces of the damned went to meet their apportioned fate with a bravery and valor which Arthas had not seen in any force he had commanded since Harthglen. Perhaps it was for the best. And odd tranquility overtook him, as Arthas realized he was fully content to die here. He had done all he could to save his subordinates. Nothing more could be said.

Battle was joined, yet it became a blur. The combatants seemed to lose all individuality in the midsts of the combat. Arthas was vaguely aware that he was fighting like a madman, hacking down enemy after enemy. He saw an Infernal crush three Knights with a single blow, only to have its leg cut out from it by a forth. Footmen rushed forward to hack the creature to pieces, as Hellhounds leaped to defend their fallen comrade, blood all over their muzzles. One of them tore the throat from a Footman, while another was unable to get past the shield of its enemy and was impaled. Arthas forced himself forward, slashing his way through everything in sight, into the thick of the combat.

On and on the butchery went, without end, without stopping until finally, the Alliance was at last repulsed. Yet it was only temporary. Even now more forces mustered against them, and the Demons and Undead alike were too wounded and exhausted to repulse another attack. Their anger and resolve were spent, their numbers were dwindling by the minute. Their victories had been won and now all that remained was to face death with as much dignity as could be mustered.

Then, all of a sudden, everything stopped as if by some silent command. Arthas looked up for the first time, and saw that the sky above was burning like fire. The light dimmed and became red with some dark magic. The soldiers of the Alliance looked up from their positions, their hands shaking at the arrival of some force they did not understand and dared not cross over any further. Some power as of yet unrevealed forbid it, and they dared not disobey.

During this unexpected calm, Arthas directed Invincible to move where Kel'thuzad was summoning. 'Clear the hill,' He said to his focus. 'protect the acolytes. And make ready to leave this area.' They obeyed, making their way to the far reaches of the hill, and taking up a position guarding the Acolytes. Arthas had other concerns.

Within the air, there was a rising tenseness that dwarfed comprehension. The air itself seemed to be wavering before some terrible power, as Arthas dismounted and made his way to where Kel'thuzad was working, though keeping a fair distance. The ritual was complete, he realized. Kel'thuzad lowered his arms and moved away to stand beside Arthas, an air of scarcely contained anticipation coming from him. 'Come forth, Lord Archimonde!' said Kel'thuzad as a joyous herald might proclaim the arrival of some unexpected guest. 'Enter this world, and let us bask in your power!'

No portal appeared. For a moment nothing happened. For a moment Arthas thought something had gone wrong.

Then there was a flash of fire, and Archimonde was there in their midsts. It was as if a God had appeared from the heavens. The blue Demon Lords sheer aura of power made Arthas short of breath. The men and woman of the Alliance looked up, faces pale. For a primal terror was now growing within their hearts as they saw the Demon Lord let his gaze fall upon them in contempt. Their hands shook, and though they held the field, and greater numbers they knew the advantage was not theirs anymore.'Tremble mortals, and despair.' said Archimond simply in a pronouncement of lawful sentence, no true wrath in his voice. 'Doom has come to this world!'

'Tremble mortals and despair.' said Archimonde simply in a pronouncement of lawful sentence, no true wrath in his voice. 'Doom has come to this world!'

The Alliance turned and fled in terror back to the defenses of Dalaran, leaving the officers of the scourge alive. There, within the security of their city, the Alliance readied itself for an assault unlike any other. Shaking himself from his awe, Arthas looked from the hilltop, and reflected that Archimonde's army would have to be truly formidable to break the defenses which were manned. Yet such was the power that radiated from Archimond, that Arthas somehow felt that he would settle for something far more grand and deadly.

Archimond turned around, and faced Kel'thuzad, eyes gazing upon the Lich with interest. 'You have done well, little Lich. My plan worked perfectly.' He congratulated him, the first sign that he had noticed them at all.

At this moment the return of green mist heralded the coming of Tichondrius, who fell to one knee in fealty, his wings drooping as he set one claw on the flagstones. 'Lord Archimond.' He said with reverence. 'All the preparations have been made.'

'Very well, Tichondrius.' Said Archimonde with a satisfied bearing. 'Since the Lich King is of no further use to me, you Dreadlords will now command the scourge.' Arthas blinked, scarcely able to react as he was stripped of his command for success.

'As you wish, Lord Archimonde.' replied Tichondrius, just a touch of smug self-satisfaction in his tone.

'Soon, I will order the invasion to begin.' continued Archimond 'But first I will make an example of these paltry wizards, by crushing their city into the ashes of history.' Then, heeding Arthas no more than one might a worm in the mud, Archimond and Tichondrius departed the hilltop, making their way into a nearby wheat field.

Arthas stood there, utterly silent. He had killed Uther, the Paladins, and so many others for this singular moment, done everything that had been asked of him as ordered, and this was the thanks he got? His men, his soldiers had died in droves to make this summoning a reality, the only survivors were some badly wounded hellhounds and infernals, and the acolytes he had pulled away from the battle in time. All that sacrifice, all that endless toil, only for command to be passed to Tichondrius without a word of thanks? His subordinates faired no better, where before they had been under the command of those they had pledged loyalty to, now they were but slaves to a distant and proud council of Demons.

'This has got to be a joke!' He burst out. 'What happens to us now?!'

'Be patient young Death Knight, the Lich King foresaw this as well.' said Kel'thuzad, a pillar of serenity amidst the chaos which even now seemed to spark from the air itself. 'You may yet have a part to play in his grand design.'

His words were of no comfort to Arthas, who felt the souls within Frostmourne thrashing. His own as well, and he felt a fury growing in his heart, for it had all been for nothing! His grip upon the runeblade tightened. Looking to the field, he saw that Archimond was drawing an elaborate circle within the sand, Tichondrius nowhere to be seen. 'Gather the acolytes, and pull away from this place.' He told Kel'thuzad, trying to contain his fury. 'I will be with you shortly.'

Kel'thuzad looked at Arthas in what seemed almost fear, mixed with concern. 'Death Knight, we cannot afford to-'

'Do it.' Snapped Arthas 'Or do you too now only answer to Tichondrius? I will be right behind you.'

He sheathed Frostmourne, and dismounted, making his way through the fields, feeling the stalks of wheat brushing against his gloved hands as he made his way to where Archimond was looking down at the dirt. He moved slowly, making his way onwards, his fury settling into a resigned sort of anger, for he could do nothing directly against Archimond. That much was clear, for even Frostmourne was not in favor of attacking him. Better to bide his time, and gain retribution at a critical moment. He halted some distance away from the Demon. Archimond made no move to invite or rebuke him, and yet the impression was driven into his mind that Archimond would allow him to witness the ritual.

Arthas drew near and kneeled before him as the souls in Frostmourne fell silent in terror as the Demon Lord paid him no more mind. The Death Knight examined the circle, eldritch in nature. He had seen pentacle before, in Dalaran, yet it was nothing like this one. A dragonfly flew above the circle, hovering endlessly for a moment and observing it, before fluttering away in terror as Archimonde's hand finished the circle. He spoke in a language which Arthas did not understand, yet the meaning was made clear to him by means unknown.

 _'Let this scar signify the first blow against the mortal world.'_ Arthas realized that he was of no more account to the Demon Lord than the dragonfly was. A lesser creature, which served a purpose, yet warranted no interaction. _'From this seal shall arise the doom of men, who in their arrogance sought to wield our fire as their own.'_

Archimond looked up at him, and Arthas remained steadfast as the Demon Lords gaze pierced through him as if contemplating his very existence. Two fingers cupped Archimond's chin as his expression became thoughtful before he looked past Arthas and smiled in triumph. Arthas turned and followed his gaze, seeing the City of Dalaran, standing unblemished with towering spires and green fields and trees all around it. Even now the defenders were manning walls and mustering to repel an assault.

 _'_ _Blindly they built their Kingdoms on stolen knowledge and conceit.'_

An assault from where? There wasn't a single undead creature now on the field. Kel'thuzad had departed alongside what little remained of their forces. Arthas, and Archimond, and Tichondrius wherever he was, for Arthas knew he was watching, were the only entities that were arrayed against the alliance. By all accounts the forces of darkness had been soundly defeated. Or so it appeared.

Yet in his heart, Arthas knew the truth. The Alliance's victory was for nothing. His mercy to all within had been for nothing. They were doomed. Everyone within Dalaran, within the world, was doomed. Archimond had something much more grand and deadly planned than a simple attack by Demons. Yet what? The masonry of Dalaran had stood for over a thousand years. It was enchanted with spells that made it invulnerable to even the strongest siege equipment. Before the Kingdom of Arathor countless fruitless battles had been waged to pierce its walls and none had succeeded.

He was uncertain, but he knew this much. The end of Dalaran now was not 'if' but 'how'.

A memory of standing beneath the violet towers with Jaina, looking up for the first time at the spires in awe, flashed through Arthas' mind. Then Archimonde's hand came down upon the circle, and the Demon raked his clawed fingers through the dirt, irrevocably changing the artful design.

 _Now they shall be consumed by the very flame they sought to control.'_

Drawing up a handful of sand, the Demon Lord let go of it, and as it fell it formed into the appearance of Dalaran, with its many towers and walls. Archimond suddenly seemed to grow in size without changing visibly, as he towered above the sand castle, and reached forward with one claw. After a moments pause, he gripped the Violet Ccitidel peak violently.

There was an earthshaking sound of crumbling, and looking down upon Dalaran revealed that the violet citidel had shattered into thousands of pieces, the debris raining down upon the defenders. Cries of dismay could be heard, as soldiers rushed along the walls, seeking to find their unseen assailant. Priests began dispelling magic, to no avail.

Archimond rose up a bit, and snarling lunged forward and brought his hands through the sands, disrupting the sand castle so that it was unrecognizable. Arthas did not look up to see the destruction of the city where he had spent such time with his first love. The screams, and cries of alarm, and earth shattering noises were all the evidence he needed to know that Archimond had destroyed Dalaran with a single spell of unfathomable power.

He did not know how long he kneeled there, staring at the circle which had been drawn. All he knew was that it was long after Archimond had left him behind. Now he knew why Archimond had been so swift to dismiss him, why he had been paid so little heed to Arthas. Tichondrius was the chief Lieutenant of an entity whose power approached that of Gods. Perhaps even exceeded it.

Utterly silent, Arthas finally rose and began making his way back to Kel'thuzad on foot, left to muse on what he had wrought.

* * *

They had paid no heed to the warnings of the prophet. They fought as they had for generations.

In the fields of Stormwind, a human warrior did battle with an orc warrior. Their blows resounded across a field, as their sword and axe slashed. The orc knocked aside the human's shield, so that he was forced to abandon it as they stood apart from one another, their blades in hand. Both were breathing heavily, the old hatreds burned brightly in their hearts.

The orc roared suddenly, and the sound of it echoed across the fields.

Then the sky began to rain fire. A ball of green light collided with the ground, leaving a great crater. And from that crater emerged an infernal of terrible power. Both orc and human were consumed by its onslaught.

The world stood now on the brink of destruction, as the reign of chaos began…

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

Well, it's done. My first serious fanfic has been completed. It was far easier than I expected, really, once I got into the groove. I really appreciate everyone reading the story so far, and I hope to release a new fanfic that will continue where this one left off. For now, thank you for reading.

Now as for the chapter itself:

I'll admit, Tichondrius is something of a scrappy of mine. Not because he's a bad character, or because he's incompetent, or even because he's evil. Rather it's because he's the primary reason you never get to use a Dreadlord in the campaign. Then he gets all the credit. Consequently, this view of him has somewhat colored Arthas' early reactions. That said, I tried to do Archimond justice and I think I succeeded.

As for why Garithos is here, keep in mind that Garithos mentions that he managed to halt an undead advance at the base of the mountains of Alterac. That perfectly describes your assault on Dalaran. Given that most people who played Under a Burning Sky lost their entire base towards the end of their first playthrough, I figure it's fair to say that Garithos was the commanding officer of the Alliance during Under a Burning Sky. The reason he says 'we' to Kael'thas, is because of the High Elves Garithos was using in that battle. He is reminding Kael'thas that he left Dalaran high and dry to see to his own people.

Which, if one thinks about it, actually gives Garithos some credibility as a leader. Sure he might be a racist son of a bitch who is largely responsible for the High Elves leaving the Alliance, and Kael'thas' start of darkness, but he might be the only person before Tirion Fordring to actually deal Arthas a tactical defeat. Even if it availed the Alliance little, what with Archimond showing up and all.

One thing I wanted to portray here was that the undead scourge's victories were not effortless. In Arthas: Rise of the Lich King the way they play it, the scourge could have probably conquered the entire world without the Burning Legion. In my case, I'm going to say that there are only so many corpses to be found in usable condition, and the scourge has been kind of running out of steam towards the Dalaran missions.

As for Arthas being in the last cinematic, the idea is that the Destruction of Dalaran cinematic is from a first person perspective. While I realize that Archimond more or less snubbed Arthas in the aftermath of his victory, I expect that given his penchant for drama, the Demon Lord might enjoy an audience.

It's funny, I played this game years ago and it only just dawned on me how badass Archimond is. On that note, the number of Alliance Bases destroyed in this campaign totals out to three, not counting the ones which I only destroyed the troop production buildings on in Dalaran. Let's see how low we can get in the other campaigns.

On a separate note, some of you may be put off by the different tone taken in the beginnings of this chapter than the others. All I can say is that things worked out this way, really. After seven chapters of very grim storytelling, I ended up taking an almost humorous approach towards the early sections of this chapter. I may post an epilogue later, if I can think of anything to put there. If you have any requests for content in the epilogue, give them to me in the review section.

Stayed tuned for the next exciting story in the Mercyverse! See you soon!

 **EDIT:**

A couple of minor changes. Nothing too fancy.


	9. Epilogue of the Damned

**Epilogue of the Damned:**

Tichondrius had his work cut out for him.

The Death Knight had passed through Lordaeron, Quel'thalas and all the other places like a fel wind, accomplishing everything he was assigned to do, and slaying most of the great Alliance heroes in the process. And yet despite his vicious onslaught, he had left most of the human settlements intact. In the wake of his assaults many of them had time to rebuild their strong points and flee to other nations for shelter. Thus the forces of Lordaeron were absorbed into the neighboring countries, where they bolstered the defense with their experience and cunning.

Meanwhile, the undead scourge in northrend had never quite recovered from the death of Mal'ganis. Draktheron Keep lay in ruins, and the human expedition stranded there had neither fallen to pieces, nor fled. Trapped in the frozen continent, they established a bastion of light in the frozen north that kept the undead there largely occupied containing. To make matters worse they had begun to unify the locals in a united front against the scourge.

In fact, it would not be far from the mark to say that Prince Arthas had done more damage to the undead as a Paladin, then he had done to the Alliance as a Death Knight. By the time he had come to Dalaran, far from being unassailable, the scourge had been on the verge of collapse. Its supply lines were stretched through territory filled with human warriors. Yet what annoyed Tichondrius most was that nobody but him _seemed to mind._

Lord Mannaroth seemed to be having the most fun he had in years, doing battle against the human remnant. They fought tooth and nail, slaying undead and demons for every inch of ground they lost. The brutal Pit Lord was in his element here, towering over the front lines and hewing down men and dwarves alike with such strength that only a mist of blood remained in his wake. Lord Kazzak had a similar disposition, enjoying himself immensely as he fought his way into Stromguarde.

Unfortunately not all the Paladins were dead, Tichondrius had not had time to have them all slain and they proved a constant thorn in the side of the Legion, inspiring hope and rallying their forces to war. Neither had the Mages of the Kirin Tor been neutralized, for while many had been killed when their city was cast down, many had also survived. The backlash of magical energies turning many of the citizens into mutants when Archimond destroyed their vaunted city. An onslaught of doomguards was sent to finish off any survivors, however, the mages beat them back and swiftly retreated to their outlying outposts.

The human Lord Garithos soon proved to be a barrier against the undead, and Tichondrius called a meeting.

'Detheroc,' He said 'you are assigned to this… Garithos. He is our most significant threat in the region, with substantial forces. Find a way to neutralize him. I leave the details to you.' Detheroc, being of like mind to Mal'ganis, would likely come up with something very ironic and karmic.

'The human will bow before me.' said Detheroc, before departing in a cloud of green smoke.

'Balnazzar,' Tichondrius continued, to the most experienced Dreadlord 'your task lies in the Capital City of Lordaeron, you are to build up the armies of the scourge once again, and fuel the war effort with fresh corpses.'

'This land will remain the Legions.' vowed Balnazzar.

'I also expect you to fortify your position extensively, to ensure it does not fall to the Alliance.' He turned to the last member of the group. 'Varimethras I am assigning you to the Tirisfal Glades, my reports indicate that there is a war going on between a bandit lord named Blackthorn, and the ogre legion. You are to ensure this war continues. Nothing must threaten our hold over this continent.'

'As you say, Lord Tichondrius.'

For the extent of his problems were not just in the enemy forces being greater than anticipated. The issue also lay within the scourge itself. The undead seemed… reluctant to pursue noncombatants. As if the Death Knights restraint had rubbed off on them, and many who would have otherwise been cut down managed to reach safety.

Each time the humans were defeated, they inflicted casualties on the scourge and reformed somewhere else, usually stronger, bolstered by those who had fled. They never gave up, never surrendered. Worse still, entire stretches of land went without proper purging due to the shortage of manpower. Gilneas remained an unbreakable defense, for Archimonde was not inclined to use the same spell twice.

'These humans are proving to be an amusing opposition.' noted Archimond to Tichondrius as the two of them observed a village being overrun. Their footmen had formed a line and were fighting against a force of hellhounds and ghouls. Several of the hellhounds fell, and many of the ghouls, before the line was driven in. 'And their courage might well save them, for a time. I have no desire to become engaged in these petty skirmishes indefinitely. We will invade Kalimdor soon.'

'Whenever you will it,' said Tichondrius 'merely command and it shall be so.'

'For now,' said Archimond 'I wish you to focus on eliminating Cenarius before the invasion commences. He is… a complication.'

'As you wish.' said Tichondrius, who immediately begun turning over in his mind how he might accomplish such a feat. Cenarius was beyond him, and all except Archimonde, though Mannaroth would no doubt deny it. Mannaroth…

Mannaroth, the Pit Lords blood had proved useful before. It might again. Tichondrius had not seen or heard any sign of the orcish horde during all this time. This mystery disturbed him, and he suddenly realized that there was a space of time which he could not account for the location of Kel'thuzad and Arthas, between their corruption of the Sunwell and their assault on Dalaran. Did Archimond know something? He almost certainly did. He did not often indulge his subordinates in information they did not need, and even Tichondrius could not fully fathom his workings and power.

He knew that Kel'thuzad had to have his orders given to him at some point. It seemed likely that he had cut Tichondrius out of the loop, and contacted Archimonde directly. Yet how to broach the subject? Not with a flat accusation certainly, that would end badly. 'The orcs could prove… useful in this regard.' said Tichondrius after a moment.

'The only orcs who remain in this land were wiped away by the scourge.' replied Archimond simply. 'They barred the path to a Demon Gate, and paid for it dearly.'

Wasn't that just typical, the first time the Death Knight was properly merciless, and it was on people who could have been an asset. Tichondrius began to wonder if the Death Knight had his own agenda. He had been planning to introduce Mannaroth to the orcs, and gain a new race of fel orcs. Now it seemed that was no longer an option. 'Some of the orcs departed these lands, fleeing before our coming.' said Tichondrius 'I observed them. They might have landed in Kalimdor.'

'Then seek them out, and use them to eliminate Cenarius.'

'There are… complications.' said Tichondrius 'These orcs do not worship Demons anymore.'

'I have the utmost confidence in your abilities.' replied Archimond. 'Now, depart and make way for the Legion.'

* * *

The Alliance held its ground. They fought on, through nightmares and demons and undead until they either emerged victoriously or died trying. The Paladins were first in every deadly charge, and last in every retreat. Even the mighty doomguards were given pause when faced with the Chosen of the Light. Yet even as the situation became more hopeless, it occurred to them that the undead had changed tactics, even as they had changed leaders. The mages of the Kirin Tor cast many spells in the defense of Lordaeron, as ice slew ghouls, allowing villagers to escape. as the people strove to free their land from the taint which had been inflicted upon it. From these mages it was learned that Arthas Menethil had been replaced as leader of the scourge.

It made sense. Arthas never burned villages, or slaughtered uninvolved parties, he'd merely killed the leaders and done what he had to in order to achieve his objective. At the time people had taken no notice of it, yet it became a private and unspoken opinion that they far preferred Arthas to the Legion.

Private and unspoken because some sects of the Alliance were becoming more and more vengeful, and fanatical. Talk about the enemies politics could get a man beheaded in some places.

Tirion Fordring observed the fight as it progressed, involving himself only to aid travelers who were being pursued by the undead. He spent his days surviving and doing battle with the innumerable creatures who wandered the plague lands, slaying warriors and no one else. Those without weapons to defend themselves seemed oddly safe from attack unless ordered by a commander.

Tirion wondered what had changed in the rabid monsters who had before been so vicious. Was this the work of Prince Arthas?

* * *

Kael'thas returned to find half of Silvermoon burned, and the other half greatly changed. On the horizon, he could see an undead bastion dominating the landscape. The air itself spoke of a terrible desperation, and as he arrived his gaze was met with new hope.

'Prince Kael'thas, you return at last!' said Lor'themar Theron, behind him many soldiers. 'Much has changed since you left for Dalaran my liege. The undead and forest trolls united and overran our best defenses! Even now the traitor Dar'khan musters his forces for another assault!'

'No one panic.' said Kael 'Man your posts and ensure they do not breach the gates a second time. Where is my Father?'

'He lies in a coma.' said Lor'themar 'The Sunwell's corruption… it affected him more than others.'

'I will see him. Lead me to him.' said Kael'thas shortly. As they walked, he learned of many things, of Dar'khan's betrayal, of the battle with the undead as they approached the gates. How Arthas had gained the Key of Three Moons without actually engaging the Rangers in battle. 'What of your commander Sylvanas?'

'She and her rangers are stretched thin protecting the outlying villages. Their ranks were badly depleted fighting the Death Knight, and they are stretched thin.' said Lor'themar 'She left me in command.' They halted before Anasterians chambers.

'I see. Return to it, and muster our forces.' said Kael'thas 'Once I've seen my Father, I mean to destroy the undead who have built their Fortress within out sight.' They parted ways, and Kael'thas entered into his Fathers room.

At the side of the bed was a Priestess of the Light. She was hovering over him worriedly, and as he drew nearer Kael'thas halted in shock. He scarcely recognized his Father. Anasterian Sunstrider's features were gaunt, his face was sunken, his hair seemed thin. Several bruises were on his face, still healing. His hands were almost claw-like, and he lay in a torments coma. In his hand was gripped Felo'malorn so tightly that dried blood was on the hilt.

Kael kneeled down by him. 'Father…' he said, voice tentative. 'How did this happen?'

'He fought Arthas and was defeated.' said the Priestess 'The Death Knight left him alive, his royal guard dead around him. The trolls beat him near to within and inch of his life. When the Sunwell was corrupted, he fell into a sleep from which he cannot awaken.'

Kael reached forward, setting one hand to his Fathers shoulder. Suddenly Anasterian shifted, and his eyes opened blearily. Turning Felo'malorn around in his hand, he offered the blade to Kael. 'Take… the sword…' his breathing was ragged. 'Save… our… people…'

Kael'thas took the blade. 'I will,' he said, voice breaking. 'I promise you I will not rest until our people have been avenged on their enemies.'

His Father smiled and fell back into darkness. Kael'thas arose. 'Keep him well cared for.' he said to the Priestess. 'I have a war to fight.'

He departed the chamber and began to prepare the people of Silvermoon for the war ahead. When Kael'thas was done there would be nothing left of the undead bastions which stood within his realm. He would see to it personally.

Under his leadership, Silvermoon gained hope once more.

* * *

Hours later Prince Kael'thas entered his Fathers room and sat beside the bed of the Elven King. Kael remained silent, wondering if his Father was aware he was there. Would he ever awaken again, or would that moment have been the final time he would speak with his Father? He had been told that speaking with him might help, so in the lull brought on by his victory he was going to try.

'Father,' he said 'I've returned. My forces have begun retaking territory from the undead, but it could take some time before we can drive them out. Quel'thalas is… changing. This wretched curse has claimed nearly a quarter of Silvermoon's population. We're still receiving reports about the countryside. People are afraid, and I've had to send troops to prevent people from killing the wretched. Even so, they almost always lose their jobs and are isolated. I'm planning to create some kind of military division that uses wretched. It would provide a great deal of manpower, and we need that right now.

I… I'm almost glad you can't see what is happening.' He looked down at the floor bitterly. 'Even so, it could have been far worse. I've read General Windrunners reports. Arthas made fools of us all, he outmaneuvered us at every turn within our own homeland. Sylvanas seems to think he went out of his way to avoid destroying cities in here and Lordaeron.

Most of our people are still alive, and we still have the local militias, but the trolls have begun raiding again. I… I'm doing everything I can to ensure that when you wake up things will be better.

Not as they once were, I don't think that will ever happen. But… better.' It wasn't enough. 'I'm sorry.' he said at last. 'I'm sorry that I wasn't here to defend our people. I'm sorry… for a lot of things.' He remained silent for a moment. '…I'm sorry that I'm going to change out policy regarding the outside world. I know you always felt we should stay out of human affairs, but this won't just blow over. We vanquished the trolls with humanities help a long time ago, and then we just turned our eyes inward. If we had helped in Lordaeron… things might be very different now.

There is a demon in Lordaeron now, called Archimonde. I can feel him even here, he is so powerful he laid Dalaran to waste with ease. I think the only reason any of us are alive is that he is refusing to take a direct hand in things. I'm going to settle things here, and then I'm going to go help the Alliance.'

Anastarian said nothing, but his grip upon the sword loosened and the blade fell from his grip to land upon the floor. Kael leaned down and picked it up. He had always been distant from his Father, always believed that they should pay more attention to the outside world. Now his beliefs had been vindicated. Kael looked upon his Fathers face, as he brought up the broken blade before his eyes. 'I will bring honor to you, and our people.'

Then he rose and made his way from the room. The door was shut softly behind him.

* * *

In the waning days of Old Lordaeron, a group of footmen crept through the long wheat, shields upraised to ward off a surprise attack. Their swords were gripped in gloved hands as they pressed on through the wheat fields. As their booted feet stepped over the blighted ground they looked out from the field of wheat to see a force of ghouls feasting upon the flesh of a village. The leader of the Footmen raised one hand, and the others halted, waiting.

There was an old man, clad in red robes, with a long staff and a white beard. On its head was an antlered skull. He gazed around, directing his men to and fro.

The Footmen motioned forward. 'FOR LORDAERON! FOR THE KING!'

As one the footmen rushed from the wheat to assault the undead. Many ghouls fell in the first few moment before they could even respond. The leader of the footmen cut the head from the necromancer, as his warriors overran the ghouls.

'Sir,' said a footman 'more undead are approaching from the south.'

Many skeletal archers came forward and launched a gigantic volley of arrows. Yet the footmen raised their shields and locked them together. The black feathered arrows landed upon the shields but did not slay the footmen. Bringing round their swords, the footmen cut the arrows from their shields and advanced towards the skeletons.

Soon they were in range and hacked and slashed their way through the ranks of their enemies. For a few moments there was a terrible hectic moment, and then there were no more skeletons.

Suddenly out of the nearby trees emerged a great force of abominations, giants sewed together from flesh, pouring with blood and guts. In their deformed hands were massive cleavers which they brought down upon the footmen. Yet the footmen leaped away, and hewed at them, surrounding the creatures and hacking their legs and arms. On and on it waged, until at last the beasts toppled and died, their pulsing flesh fading.

Cheers of victory rang from the troops, as the last undead corpse crumbled to the ground. 'Well done men, we've driven them off. Let's regroup at the camp!'

And then someone approached them, coming out from hiding in the village. She was a beautiful woman, clad in what had once been very fine clothes and had long blonde hair which had become ragged over time. The leader raised a sword, wary of a trap. 'Hold where you are. State your business.'

'Please,' she said in a weak voice. 'my name… is Calia… Menethil… I need help.'

Then she collapsed before them.

'Calia Menethil?' asked the footmen 'The Princess of Lordaeron? I thought she was dead.'

'Whether it's her or not, we may not leave a maiden to die, regardless of her business in the plaguelands.' stated Shear. 'Pick her up, and we'll take her back to King Wilhelm. He'll know what to do.'

* * *

Calia Menethil awoke to find herself lying in a soft bed, feeling very tired. It was not the most comfortable bed she had ever lain in, but after weeks of sleeping on the ground, it might as well have been. Over her were thick covers, and for a moment she simply lay there, wondering if she was dreaming all that had happened. Her clothes were new, but they were not the sort given to royalty. Her face was clean. Standing, she made her way over to a window and opened the shutters to look down into a town square.

Beneath her, he saw what appeared to be a market, filled with people buying and selling, just as if the end of days wasn't upon them. There was an orc, selling furs by a stall, and people were buying them. Yet she did not recognize the market square.

'Oh, so you are awake,' said a calm voice.

Calia turned round and saw a man with blonde hair and green eyes looking at her in concern. He was clad in a simple white tunic and pants. She stepped back. 'Who are you?' she asked.

'I am called Wilhelm,' stated the man 'King Wilhelm actually. In absence of any other royal authority, I have taken up the burden of leadership. My lieutenant tells me that you are Calia Menethil.'

'I am,' she said, unsure of herself now. 'I barely escaped with my life from Lordaeron City when it fell. I've been wandering ever since, trying to escape the undead.' What did he want? Did he intend to marry her to assure his rule?

'I see,' he said 'well whether its true or not, you are welcome to take shelter in Strahnbrad until such a time as I may restore you to your throne. We are under threat of course, few places are not, however I have tried to make this place safe for those in need.'

'I…' she paused 'thank you.'

'With your permission,' said Wilhelm 'I would like to write to Lord Antonidas of Dalaran regarding your presence here. He may be able to help. Of course, if you object-'

'No,' she said 'no, I think that would be for the best.'

'Very well,' said Wilhelm, bowing his head. 'I will do as you wish. For now, I will arrange for someone to be your guide so long as we are here.'

'I… I appreciate your assistance,' said Calia. 'without you I would probably be dead. If there is anything I can do to help, name it.'

'There is much,' stated Wilhelm 'I need you to begin writing letters to the neighboring Kingdoms, and anyone who was once part of the Alliance. Ask them to rally their forces to aid in fighting the undead. If we can get them to begin making even border raids, it will do much to aid in our war.'

'Right,' she said 'I'll do that, just give me pen and parchment.'

'Also, if and when you feel up to it,' said Wilhelm 'I would appreciate you make some form of speech to the people of Strahnbrad. The population is swelling with refugees, and it would raise spirits to know some elements of the old system still survive.

I would also appreciate it if you made recruitment speeches.'

'That… thats a lot, but I'll try.' She had only just gotten to safety, and now he wanted her to make speeches? Calia had never expected to take an active role in things before now.

'Excellent,' said Wilhelm 'you have the potential to be of a great deal of service to Lordaeron, milady. Now if you will excuse me, I have a war meeting to attend. I will have pen and parchment sent up later.' He nodded and departed the room.

Calia sat down, and breathed out. A few days ago, she had expected to be dead in hours. Now she was alive, and had been given a task. She had been totally ineffectual until now, but she was now determined to end that streak.

The undead had ravaged their way through Lordaeron like a fel wind. Many mighty and senior Generals had been slain. The army had suffered heavy casualties, but the scourges momentum had been halted at Dalaran. Although demons began to be summoned into Lordaeron, the Alliance was rallying its forces to defend their home. And abroad, the other nations of the Alliance had begun to muster. The war had only begun.

Dark times were upon Lordaeron, but even amidst these days the people refused to give up in despair.

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

Well this is a chapter which I had originally intended to post as the final chapter of Mercy of the Damned. However I could not find it anywhere, and so had to proceed without it. I considered making the contents of this an entirely separate fanfic, but I figure nobody would be interested in a story about OC's. It is enough to establish that Calia is alive, and that Prince Kael'thas has become active.

Moreover, I believe this epilogue actually captures an important aspect of the story which the original final chapter failed. The results of Arthas' mercy, and avoidance of needless bloodshed, to contrast the summoning of the demon Archimonde.

Anyway, I realize this is a bit late, but better late than never eh?

As for Lorthemar being left in command in Sylvanas' absence, he was lying and using his connections to ensure he remained in control.

Hope you enjoyed Mercy of the Damned.

 **EDIT:  
** A couple of minor edits really, but nothing too serious.


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